


Paper Hearts

by emma (panic_switch)



Category: Paramore
Genre: F/M, Tayley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 102,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panic_switch/pseuds/emma
Summary: a story about two people who have just about given up on love (AU)(posting this here in support of the Wattpad migration)
Relationships: Hayley Williams/Taylor York
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is already posted on Wattpad because when I first posted it, this fandom was pretty dead on here but I do prefer AO3 so here I am lol
> 
> If you are from wattpad and are waiting for me to write the next chapter - so am I tbh. I'm having to focus on school at the moment but I am still writing things, though that won't see the light of day for a while. Some of the things in this I would change/do differently since I started writing this like 2 to 3 years ago (wow that's really hard to believe) but I don't want to re-work this too much, it's like my first big story so I wanna keep it the way it is (I am *quite* sentimental). I still do love this story, don't get me wrong lol
> 
> Either way, this content drought is pretty brutal so maybe some people who enjoy this sort of story will find something in it.
> 
> Edited by a lovely person on Wattpad, very very very big thanks to them

Taylor

I love this feeling. Like I could do anything. Like I'm on top of the world. Every doubt, every regret, all of guilt I carry with me, it all goes away the second I step on the ice. It's the only time I'm able to forget, to let go of the pain. Pain I have nobody to blame for but myself. I don't think I can quite describe it, but when I play the game, it's just me and the puck. The adrenalin, it simply feels incredible.

Until it doesn't.

I keep my eyes trained on the ground, not having even the slightest intention of looking up. I'm not going to give my opponent the satisfaction, because I know that's exactly what he wants. Beads of sweat trickle down my face as I wait for the referee to start the game. Before I started playing I used to think that hockey players must've been freezing in the rink, it being ice and all, but I couldn't've been further from the truth.

I slow my breathing and await the perfect moment. The cheers from the crowds used to distract me because I knew she was there, but it's been a long time since then, since her.

Not yet. I let go of my stick with one hand and quickly hold it again, this time making my grip stronger. Not yet. From the corner of my eye, I see the other player's arm twitch, as he was probably expecting to see the black plastic object him the ice. I take one breath and another. Now.

The second the referee lets go of the puck I swipe the blade of my stick, stealing it and sending it behind me to one of my teammates. The clock starts ticking again. We're tied and there is 1 minute to go. We're not losing this match.

I slip past the players that go after the puck unnoticed and wait for a pass. I'm not the tallest here, but I use that to my advantage - it's not exactly easy to catch me. The teammate that caught my face-off had a little trouble shaking off the Sharks, but he's one of the best players I've ever been played with - our whole formation is.

He passes the puck behind our net. 50 seconds to go. Our defender catches it and immediately sends it to our center. He waits for a moment, scanning the situation, searching for their mistake. Most of the audience probably thinks it's a bad idea to waste time, but I know exactly what's going on. I know these guys like my shoes. 40 seconds to go. The Sharks' attacker can't hold himself anymore and goes to snatch the disk, which is exactly what we wanted. With one of their players behind we can finally cross the line and move to the attacking zone. 30 seconds to go. I sprint past two of their players once I'm sure there won't be any offside and circle around behind their goalie. 20 seconds to go. There's another fight over the puck at the boards. 15 seconds to go. Our right wing wins the fight and gets an opportunity to shoot. Miss. 10 seconds to go. I'm in control of the little black circular object now. Before moving forward, I take one second to look around and one corner of my mouth curls up ever so slightly. 5 seconds to go. Just the right amount of time to finish this in style.

I start forward and turn around to see the goalie looking straight at me. It's me versus him. His legs are in good places, since he saw me coming. Everything happened fast enough for the other players not to be able to stop me, but not fast enough for him to not be there in time. The bottom half of the net is a no go. 3 seconds to go. I can see a blue-uniformed player racing towards me, but he won't make it on time. I reach out and repeat the move I've done more times than I'll ever be able to count while training. The blade of my stick crashes into the ice with all of the force I can muster and sends the puck flying towards the right corner of the net.

For a moment there's complete silence, as everyone's waiting to see if it went through. In that very moment something crashes into my side with such force I immediately fall to the ground. Then there's black.


	2. one

Hayley

"You're from Nashville, right?" my coworker, Andy, asks when she gets back behind the bar after taking an order and passing the little paper to the kitchen. It's still a little before rush-hour, so there aren't that many people here yet, which is definitely a period of time we both treasure.

"Not entirely, but yeah," I answer, while preparing drinks for a family that just got here. "Why?" Andy was born and raised in Boston and had only just moved here to Portland a few years ago because of her boyfriend being here. We've only known each other a few months, but I like her - if only for the fact that she shows up for her shifts on time.

"Did you hear about that hockey player? He's from there… York, was it?" Just hearing his name sends shivers down my spine. That name has changed my life in so many ways that he doesn't - and never will - know about. The never-ending pain connected to him has made me avoid anything and everything that's even slightly got something to do with him or his team.

I used to love going to his games. They weren't anything big back then - mostly just local clubs holding friendly matches against each other - but I loved watching the person he became on the ice. Anytime he scored, he'd always take the time to find me in the crowd - that, granted, wasn't big, but the process still wasn't an easy task - and flash me one of his cocky grins. Now that he's the right wing for the Nashville Predators in the NHL, it's a lot harder to escape seeing him in the newspaper than it used to be, but I still do my best.

"What about him?" I don't look her in the eyes, because she'd see just the effect his surname alone had on me and I'm not exactly fond of telling our story - if you can call it a story, that is.

"Apparently, he's finally started practicing again after the incident that sent him into a coma." I stop dead in my tracks as my feet freeze to the ground. What? He was in a coma? My heart's beating so fast in my chest that I can almost swear she can hear it. There's no way something like that happened to him. All the years I watched him play, he was always the one to escape fights at just the right time.

"He was in a coma?" My voice is shaky even after my attempts of hiding that fact. I can't believe it, it doesn't seem real, it can't be. I'm mad at myself for caring so much after what he's done to me; he's done nothing to deserve my concern. Okay, that's not entirely true; he was the most amazing person before, but he wiped all of our history together away by breaking up with me over the phone.

"So you know him, but not that he was in a coma?" Andy doesn't seem to have noticed how startled by the information I was.

"I haven't been keeping up with hockey for some time now." I attempt to shrug it off, trying to sound as normal as I can while dealing with the information that Taylor, my Taylor, was in a coma. It's not a lie, though; I haven't watched a single match since we broke up. And I guess I did a hella good job avoiding him if I really missed something that big.

"Yeah, they were playing the finale against the Sharks and in the last second, he scored and won his team the game," yup, that's the Taylor I've known since I was 15. He always outshined all of his teammates, he was way better than anyone at his age. "But one of the Sharks was trying to defend – although, I think that's bullshit and that he definitely did it on purpose, he knew he wasn't going to stop the goal going through, and that way he could get away with fouling… anyway, he jumped on York, and since he was going really fast, the poor guy's head crashed into the boards."

The image of Taylor flying across the ice and hitting his head with such force has me reaching for something to steady myself as my knees become Jello. I already hate the guy who did that to him. I don't even know his name or if he did it on purpose, but I hate him.

"Is he okay?" Once again, my tone definitely isn't a convincing one, but she still seems too caught up in other things to see through it, which isn’t out of the ordinary for her. I don't know much about her, because we don't really have the time to chat at work, but if there's one thing I've noticed, it's that she's not the most perceptive person.

My throat closes as she takes her sweet time answering. What if he's hurt? What if he can't play hockey anymore? I still know him well enough that that'd destroy him. "That's what I was saying before. The incident happened a while back, and there's been a lot of buzz as to whether he was ever going to be okay. And, well, they just announced he's just started training again and will be playing this season."

I almost let out an audible sigh upon hearing he's fine. I honestly don't know what I'd do if he truly got hurt, or worse. As much as I despise him for what he did, he's the father of my son, and that reality will bond us forever - even though he doesn't even know about the boy's existence.

"I didn't know you watch hockey," I try to somewhat change the subject.

"Well, that's the only thing Brett ever wants to talk about these days," she answers while referring to her boyfriend. "He was York's biggest fan until he got injured, but I didn't know you then. He kept going on about how amazing he is and believe me, if I had known you, you'd hear about it from me."

Since my attempt on steering the conversation was unsuccessful and I'm really not in the mood - I don't think I ever will be - to discuss Taylor's whereabouts, I quickly put the drinks I had been preparing on a tray and carry it over to the family.

They seem to be the picture-perfect family. Two kids, a boy and a girl that could be around 7, sitting opposite from each other, dangling their feet from the seats that are too high for their tiny bodies, laughing together, and their parents still clearly in love, enjoying their family time.

That's what I was so sure me and Taylor would have. I didn't have a single doubt that the two of us would grow old together. I was 15 when we met, and from that moment I knew he was perfect, and he truly was. Not long after our first time seeing each other we got together, we dated the whole of sophomore, junior, and senior year. After we graduated high school, he got scouted and got an offer from a 2nd league club - which he jumped after - while I got accepted to Julliard to play and compose piano. I was going to school in New York and he was playing hockey across the country, but we thought we could make the long distance thing work.

It was hard, not being able to see him every day, but we were managing. Since my schedule was pretty tight, he made the time to go and see me, but those visits were very infrequent and when he started playing for the NHL, which was about a month before my finals that year, we almost didn't even talk anymore.

The summer after I finished my first year at Julliard, I moved to his place for the few months I got off school and everything seemed to be fine between us, great actually. But then Taylor's brother Justin died in a car accident. It completely ruined Taylor; I've never seen him so sad.

When I went back to school that year he was acting differently, and I could tell something had changed for him. That was probably when I lost him. A couple months into the semester we were talking on the phone like we had every night, and he said he didn't love me anymore, had cheated on me, and thought we should break up.

I didn't even have the time to be devastated, because not two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant with who'd become one of the only good things in my life. I tried desperately to get a hold of Taylor, but by then he already cut all ties with me. He blocked my phone number, my email address, everything. I was almost ready to book a plane ticket to where he was staying at and tell him face to face, but some photos of him and another woman took the internet by storm, which was the last drop.

Since I didn't have any family to turn to, I had to let go of the dream and drop out of college to be able to at least somehow provide for my kid. That meant moving somewhere else – I settled upon Portland – and getting a full time job as a waitress. It's far from what had been my initial plans, I know, but there was no way I'd have time to be in classes from 9 in the morning till 10 in the evening and raise a baby at the same time. I thought that by naming my – well, I guess you could say our, but he'll never be Taylor's – son Justin Taylor York, he'd at least have something of his father, so that way they'd always be connected, even though they'll never know one another.

I get home later that evening to the sound of a child’s laughter. Once I shut the door of my apartment, I can hear little feet shuffling towards me. "Mom!" The high pitched voice fills the space as the small miracle jumps to me and gives me a tight hug when I squat down to reach his height.

He is the clear depiction of Taylor. His dirty blonde hair that I'm sure will get darker with age is just as curly as his father's. He has his jawline, lips, and his incredibly adorable button nose. The only proof on his body that I'm his mother are his eyes, that are a light shade of green. I can see it in the way he acts, too - he's only 4, and I don't think anyone's even been as protective of me like he has, except for Taylor, of course.

If anyone who knows Taylor were to see the two of them next to each other, it really wouldn't've taken long to figure out the truth, a truth that only Ashley knows. He is an everyday reminder of what I've lost. Every time I look at his face, I can't not see Taylor's. Every time he laughs, all you'd have to do is make the sound lower, and it'd be identical.

"Hi baby," I reply, hugging the tiny body back. I love him more than I can put into words. I'm proud to say that throughout everything that happened after I got pregnant, I'd never considered getting an abortion. I did have my weaker moments, but it was always clear to me that I couldn’t end the life that was just beginning inside me.

I do wonder, probably more than I'm willing to admit, about what my life would've been like if Taylor and I hadn’t broken up. We probably wouldn't be together now, since he was capable of cheating on me, but he'd be in Justin's life. Even with everything that's happened, I think he would've loved him just as much as I do; it's impossible not to. And if I never became pregnant? I'd have a diploma from Julliard right now, and I would be living my dream, and I would've been happy. But would I change things if I could go back? No. Nothing means more to me than Justin, and nothing ever will.

Since my childhood was very unstable with people constantly leaving and coming back – like my father dying when I was 14, and my mother, who’s still in and out of rehab to this day – I decided I'd do absolutely anything to make his life as perfect as it can be; but being 24 and a single mother isn't an easy task. I wish I could have more time to spend with him, but to be able to make enough money for the both of us without a college diploma's proven to be hard. I still have a side job where I play the piano in a quite expensive restaurant some nights that pays well, but that's just more time away from him.

"Hayley," my best friend, Ashley, walks into the room. She's one of the main reasons I've been able to do this. She always watches Justin when he can't be at preschool, and she's the person who got me this place way cheaper than it should've been because of a friend of hers.

"Hey Ash," I give her a grateful look and she reads my thoughts, just waving her hand like what she's done is nothing. It's very far from that.

"I'd stay and talk, but I gotta go," she reveals a backpack on her back and her hand lightly touches the doorknob, preparing to leave, her eyes apologetic.

I nod. I know she has a life of her own that she's already given a lot from to me and Justin. I thank her again and discuss a few little details about tomorrow with her. Once she's gone, the boy starts jumping around me, telling me with way more excitement than I'd use that today he saw a huge worm, scored a home run at baseball practice, and got into a fight with some kid on their team - though the last part didn't make him as happy as the previous ones. Sometimes I wonder where he gets the energy to be so hyperactive and when waking up before 7 in the morning.

When I put Justin to sleep a few hours later, I stare at the screen of my laptop, contemplating whether or not I should do what I think I'm about to do. Biting the inside of my mouth, I type in the words, and as my finger hovers above the 'enter' button, I retract it. My subconscious tells me not to press the key, and I know it's right, but the battle with rationality and curiosity in me is tied at the moment.

The conversation I had with Andy at work keeps replaying in my head. A coma. He was in a coma. If I'm being honest, I still don't completely believe it. I know hockey isn't really brutal, but you can get seriously injured playing it, which always scared the shit out of me. And so before every game, Taylor would look me in the eye and promise me nothing would happen to him. And it hadn't. Sure, he had bruises from time to time, but he was always faster than everyone, so nobody really got even close enough to hurt him. I still lived with that fact until today, until I found out that he was inches away from death – or, at least, that came up in my mind when the word coma was thrown into the mix.

My index finger hovers above the button again. My heartbeat speeds up as I'm terrified to see the results the internet will give me for "NHL York accident." I haven't seen him in almost five years. Screwing my eyes shut, I press down on the key. I probably look like a crazy person, sitting behind my bar, refusing to look at the screen, and breathing heavily.

I don't have to look; I can still close my laptop and go back to sleep. It's definitely what I should do, I know that, but what I should and want to do are two very different things. I stop breathing so heavily and slowly open my eyes. When the blurriness recedes, I can make out a few links to news articles, one of which reads, "Taylor York of Nashville Predators in a coma after scoring a goal to win his club the tournament." I cringe. Below those are YouTube videos, and in the thumbnail of the very first one is a man lying on the ice with a puddle of blood next to his head.

Oh god, that has to be Taylor. Not being able to control myself, I click on it. I immediately recognize him by the number 26 on the back of his jersey - the number marking the day we got together - preparing to face-off. He's standing still, unmoving, while his opponent keeps fidgeting with his stick. I notice the game's tied, and there's only one minute left. I watch as Taylor shoots a goal with 0.3 seconds left on the clock, and then horror fills me when some other player from the enemy team lunges himself onto Taylor, knocking him off his feet and causing his head to hit the boards with such force I almost thought they were going to break.

The incredibly loud cheering starts slowly becoming more silent as gasps become the more dominant sound. Taylor's helmet's lying next to his unconscious body, broken into two halves. There's blood pouring out of his head, and the rich red color stains the ice with such transparency. His teammates are crouching beside him, and I almost faint when they turn his body over, revealing his now completely red, lifeless face. If he wasn't dead, he sure looked like it. There are medics rushing to him, checking for his pulse and later taking him away from the rink, which is when the video comes to an end.

I stay awake another two hours researching just what happened and if he's okay, but I avoided anything else other than simple text. I couldn't handle hearing his voice. I think I'm way past the point of pretending I don't give one shit about him. He can't not matter to me, because as I said, he's the father of my child. Apparently, the doctors said it was a miracle he didn't die right there on the ice. His skull didn't crack, but it was pretty damn near to it. And now, not 6 months later, he's back in training. I can't believe how stupid he is; to almost lose his life and go back to risking it again so soon.

The next day at work is a nightmare. I don't think that in all the years I've worked here we've ever had a rush like this. People just keep and keep on coming, and it only seems to be getting worse. Drops of sweat run down the side of my head, but I ignore them. Walking to a newly occupied booth in the corner, I grab the little notebook with a pen stuck to the side of it, prepared to take the order.

I can see a guy in his mid-twenties, messy dirty blonde hair and a very broad frame. He's talking to someone, which means there's another person in the booth with him. From the cocky grin plastered over his face, I'd say he's arrogant, but when he sees me coming over his eyes seem kind. Okay, maybe this won't be that hard.

"Hello," the blonde guy says, leaning his elbows on the table.

"Hi," I smile as convincingly as possible, although I think it's pretty obvious I'm completely exhausted. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Yeah, I'll have a beer, and," he kicks his friend, who seems to be on his phone, under the table, "what about you, Taylor?"

_Taylor,_ I say in my head. _That's a funny name coincidence, given I was just thinking about-_ my thoughts are interrupted when the guy looks up and I make eye contact with the one person that's had the biggest impact on my life. My feet are nailed to the ground as we just stare at each other in pure disbelief. I feel like I'm a teenager again. I'm back in the hallways of my old high school, where I saw him for the first time. The time we kissed for the first time replays in my head. I remember all the nights we spent together, and know that whatever we might've been doing, they were perfect. And then I remember the phone call with which he shattered my entire life, and finding out I was pregnant soon after and all I can feel is just pain and agony.

"Hayley," he half whispers, probably not really believing I'm real. I don't blame him, since the chances of us seeing each other again after five years are so slim, especially the day after I heard his name again for the first time in so long, not to mention he has no way of knowing I have any link to Portland. Life has such a great sense of humor.

Oh, hell no. I finally manage to get my shit together, and in one swift motion, I turn around and start for the back exit. I hear my name being called out again, followed by some other movements, but I don't look back. I go through the door and gasp for air when I'm finally outside, realizing I had been holding my breath the entire time.

Foreign fingers curl around my hand - a grip not crushing, but not weak, either - and make me stop. "Hayley," he says my name again, this time more confident.

I can't believe the cruelty of this happening to me. After everything I've endured for the past 5 years, after all that I managed to get through, I'm back to square one, as tears threaten to spill and trail down my cheeks. This is just brilliant. Why the hell am I crying? I should be yelling. I should be telling him everything he's put me through. The pain I never really had the time to feel because I was too busy having three jobs, saving up to provide for our unborn baby, while he was off with another woman, making hundreds of thousands of dollars a night.

He tugs on my arm, forcing me to face him. I don't know what to expect of him. Does he hate me? Because that would be funny, wouldn't it? Does he just not care? But then why would he be here, chasing after me? Before I have the chance to wonder more, our eyes meet, and to my surprise I see an almost exact mirror of my own expression.

Tears. He's about to cry. The only other time I've seen Taylor cry was when he found out his brother had died. For a split second, I feel sorry for him, but those feelings quickly go away. "What do you want?" I ask in as careless and angry a tone as I can, just to make sure he knows I don't want him around.

I hate this. I hate everything about this. "Why are you working here?" His voice is shaky as he's fighting the tears.

What? Did he really hit his head that hard? "To make money, Taylor," I put emphasis on the sarcasm in my voice, "not all of us have millions of dollars just laying around in our bank accounts."

"No, I meant…" he shakes his head and looks down, still not letting go of my arm, "what about piano? You're supposed to be in concert halls right now. Why are you working as a waitress?" He finishes his question. Is that really what concerns him the most? Not the fact that he has a kid, for Christ's sake? The logical part of my brain tells me that it’s unfair to hold what he doesn’t know against him, but the part of me that’s carried all of this hurt for so long drowns everything else out.

"Things don't always work out in life like they do in yours. I dropped out." I couldn't say he's faking this even if I wanted to. The genuine shock - horror, even - is written all over his face. I make use of the situation by getting out of his hold to escape him.

My hands still shaking, I get into my car, fumbling with the keys and spending an absurd amount of time trying to turn the ignition on. I drive out of the diner’s staff parking lot and start the journey home to my small apartment on the outskirts of Portland.

When I found myself pregnant and alone, going to live in Portland seemed like the best idea, since my mother moved there from Nashville when I went to college. Before she went to rehab again not much later, that is. Staying in New York just didn’t seem like the best idea at the time, especially since I didn’t even know the city and it seemed far too big to raise a child in. And, honestly, I was glad; the idea of being in Portland seemed a lot nicer than going to Nashville. The place held nothing but memories of Taylor and our relationship there. Also, I didn’t want to risk running into any of his family there, either.

So, Portland was my new start. And life has been working out pretty well for me—well, up until a short time ago, that is.

I don’t come back to work. I had to get out of that place. So, I call my boss to tell him that I’m sick, and I need to go home. I can’t risk going back into the diner and seeing Taylor again.

Seeing him after all these years, it’s knocked me on my ass. And the fact that he tried to talk to me? I just don’t get it. He’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Justin or me all those years ago, so why did he now come over and try to speak to me?

I’m just relieved that I won’t have to see him again. I’m probably going to quit my job. He most likely won’t show his face at the diner again, but I don’t want to take the chance. My emotions can’t take it.

I feel… I don’t know how I feel. Angry. Hurt. Angry. Frustrated. Did I mention angry?

I’ll just get another job at a different place; it’s not like there aren’t enough of those. And every owner would rather take an experienced waitress over 16 year olds who just want to get out of their homes for the afternoon and make a few bucks. So, leaving there won’t be the end of the world.

Seeing Taylor again would be.

The whole of my journey home is spent having internal arguments with myself. Part of me thinks I should have said more to Taylor tonight. That I should have said all the things I wanted to say to him five years ago, but never got the chance to. The smart side of me knows that I did the right thing, walking away and not looking back. But I just don’t know.

When unlocking the door, I hear footsteps behind me, so I quickly turn around, my reflexes not letting me do anything else. Glad, but also frustrated to see Jay’s friendly face, I let out a long breath.

“Well, you look like hell,” he says, and I’m not left with anything else to do but laugh at his comment. Normally I’d shoot something back at him, saying how I look no worse than he does, but that today that would be a lie.

“Yeah, it was a long day at work,” I explain, and he smiles. Jay lives next door and he’s been a good friend to me, watching Justin when neither I nor Ashley were able to, although his schedule is pretty tight. He works as an officer at the local police station, and he’s very dedicated to what he does. I’d be lying if I said the two of us never had fun, but I don’t think there ever were any romantic feelings involved. I know I wouldn’t let there be any.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, and the concerned friend in him shines through. I know he means it when he asks questions like that; he’s not just asking them for the sake of seeming like he cares.

“No,” I shake my head, “that’s the last thing I need, believe me.”

“Alright then,” he agrees, and takes a step closer, “when can I see you again? In private, I mean. Maybe that’d take your mind off whatever happened at work.” His voice suddenly drops lower and becomes raspier. I know what that means, and he most certainly knows I do.

I have to take a step back, not being in the mood right now. “I don’t know, but I’m really not feeling great today, sorry.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later then,” he offers me a smile, and with that, he disappears into his place.

Since Justin has baseball practice, the apartment is empty when I arrive, which is most certainly a good thing - I don't want him seeing me like this. We've had the talk about him not having a dad while the rest of his friends do many times, and as far as I've noticed, he seems to have accepted it… but I can see it makes him sad. I already know that if Taylor came here, claiming fatherhood over him, he wouldn't even question his identity before jumping straight to him.

The unshed tears from before come back again, and this time I don't even bother holding them back. I know I shouldn't be crying; he doesn't deserve me crying for him. But with everything happening so fast after we broke up, I didn't have the time to cry then.

I still can't believe how dumb I was to think we'd be together forever. I trusted every single thing he said to me when he said we could make the long distance thing work, and now I'm lying on the couch in my own apartment, alone. 

_8 years ago_

_It's been a month since me and my mom moved here. A whole month of being away from everyone and everything you've ever known. Okay, maybe I'm being a little too dramatic. Franklin and Nashville aren't that far apart, but it still sucks not being able to see my friends everyday like I used to._

_Ever since dad died I've had to be the one to take care of us, and now my mom has finally stepped up and found a job that was located here, which meant we were moving. You have to forgive me for being skeptical at first, given her history with... well, pretty much everything, but so far things seem to be working out. We have a small, but still pretty nice house, and there's enough food at home every night, so maybe this is what I've been waiting for, the time she starts getting over living without dad._

_We moved half-way through summer holidays so I would be able to settle in before going to a new school. At least, that's what mom kept saying, but I'm pretty sure it's because things with the job offer just worked out that way, and me having time to adjust was just a bonus._

_The new high school is huge compared to anything in Franklin; hell, it's probably bigger than Franklin itself. I walk there, since the house we live in is close to it - and the fact that I don't want to see all of the other kids on the bus and have to deal where I'll sit just yet might have something to do with it, too. I was never really a shy person, but if I had to use one word to describe it here, it'd be unfriendly. Back home, I knew everyone and everyone knew me; it was personal. This place is a lot of things but personal._

_Walking through the huge and always open front door, I’m determined to not let the awkwardness of the situation get to me. I breathe a breath of relief when I finally find the locker number 257, the one that's supposed to be mine. Luckily, the combination I have written on a small piece of paper I've clanged onto like my own child, because if I lost it, I'd have no idea where to go._

_I'm in my own personal bubble, focusing too hard on not making a fool of myself that I don't notice a boy opening the locker next to mine, until his voice carries across to me, breaking me out of my daze._

_"Hey," he says, and I'm already panicking. What do I do? Damn it, I knew I should've prepared something in case a situation like this occurred._

_What the hell, Hayley? Stop hiding, close your stupid locker and say hi to him. God, I haven't even said anything and I'm already red. I slowly close the locker and look him in the eyes. The breath I was about to take gets hitched in my throat. He has got to be the quarterback of this school's football team, otherwise all the cliché legends won't be true. He is simply beautiful, and I can't help but admire the view of his face from here._

_"Are you okay?" he speaks again, chuckling slightly, and I curse at myself some more. I am such an idiot. I'm not used to being so socially awkward. He doesn't seem to have noticed, though, judging by the polite smile and kind eyes._

_Another minute of me staring passes by until I realize I'm supposed to say something. This cannot get any worse. "Yeah," I answer as casually as my brain allows me to. I am most definitely not fine; in fact, I don't think I've been worse in quite some time._

_"Are you new here? I don't think I've seen you yet," he leans some of his bodyweight onto the lockers with one shoulder, holding his backpack on the other one._

_"Yeah," I laugh nervously. I should seriously start saying something else other than that one word. I don't even know why he's talking to me; I'm sure the entire school wants to be friends with him._

_"My name's Taylor." Why is he introducing himself to me? 'He's being polite, you idiot,' the ever so rational part of me talks. I get lost in my thoughts again until he clears his throat, reminding me he's still there. Trust me when I say he doesn't need to remind anyone of his presence._

_"Oh, right," I attempt to gather myself, "Hayley, my name's Hayley." He smiles. I expected it to be the mean kind of smile, the one he'd wear if he wanted to laugh at me, but it seems genuine, like he's actually happy to know me. Now that's weird, because even I wouldn't want to know me after making a fool of myself like I just did._

_"What's your first class? I can show you around," he offers, and this time I'm paying attention. I'm determined to at least try to stay present if he hasn't given up yet._

_He wants to show me around? Now, that's amazing for two reasons; number one being that he, an incredibly good looking guy, wants to show me around, and number two being that I won't have to go through the entire school alone to find my classroom. I dig into my bag to find another - this time a lot worse looking - piece of paper than the previous one with my schedule on it._

_"English," I proclaim, proud of myself for figuring that out on my own._

_"Wait, give me that," he says, and I do as I’m told. "Hey, you're in the same class as me." Wait, what? He's 15 like me? He sure doesn't look it. "And bio and math, too," he seems actually happy about those things._

_"You're a sophomore?" I try not to sound as surprised as I am about the fact that we're the same age, considering I look to be about 12 and he could be 20. Judging by the smirk that formed on his lips, though, he definitely noticed my shock._

_"I am. But I do get sometimes that I look older than I actually am, so don't worry, you're not the first one to make that observation."_

_As we walk down the hall, the whispers and people unsuccessfully trying to hide that they're looking at us are at least twice as intense as they were when it was just me - probably even a lot more than that. But Taylor doesn't seem to notice it as he keeps on giving me some trivia information about the school, like where the bathrooms are, which teachers I should avoid, and things like that._

_Throughout the week, he sits next to me in almost every class we share, and when it comes to labs, we get paired as partners. I still don't know why he's talking to me, why he wants to be friends. It's not like our social statuses are even remotely comparable. So far, I’ve found out that he's the very popular captain of the hockey team, and is friends with pretty much everyone here. You'd expect a guy like that to be arrogant, rude, and just overall an asshole, but he's not._

_That's one of the main reasons I've kept my distance from him, although his attempts at talking to me haven't receded yet. Quite the opposite, actually; it's like the more I pull away, the harder he tries to get to me. I guess I still don't believe that he's not just doing this to entertain himself, out of boredom. Maybe he lost a bet and now has to talk to the new girl, I don't know. As for the other reasons, it's the fact that anytime we do talk, hateful glares from other girls who were probably hoping to get their chance with him become daggers piercing my back._

_When the teacher says the surname York and follows it by Williams after a minute of searching, I'm not even going to pretend I was surprised. Of course I wasn't; someone up there just really wants us to know one another._

_I'm about to pack my things and move to sit next to him, but he's faster as he puts his notebook and a pen onto the desk we now share, spreading his scent everywhere. That god-like, woodsy smell I can't get enough of. Okay, so what if I do like him? Can you blame me? No guy has ever been so sweet to me; back in Franklin, they treated me more like one of them, not like a girl. Whether he's putting up a charade or not, I don't know, but his interest in me sure is convincing._

_I'm already preparing ways to get out of a conversation, but he actually stays silent. He keeps looking straight ahead, supporting his head with both of his hands, smiling and enjoying every second of torturing me. What the hell is he doing? I give him a side glance to see if he's looking at me. He is. He's just there, smiling, which to me is the most irritating thing he can do. If he has something to say, he should just say it._

_Once we get instructions as to what we should be doing, he starts working on the assignment without a word. "What are you doing?" I say, when I finally can't take it anymore._

_"Doing what was supposed to be your job," he scribbles some notes down and flashes me a grin._

_"No, I meant with the no talking. Usually you go on about something for hours at a time," I explain. But wasn't the two of us not talking my goal? I should be grateful for this, not stirring up more trouble. On the other hand, I always have been the person to do the exact opposite of what I should._

_"See, I’d love for us to talk, but that's definitely not what you’ve had in mind, so I’ve decided to lay off," he sounds just a little bit annoyed "But don't worry, Williams, I'll figure you out. I'm more determined than you give me_ _credit_ _for."_


	3. two

A rather urgent knock on my front door wakes me up from a nap I'd taken on the couch. Unwillingly rubbing my eyes, I get up and walk towards the source of the sound.

It's been three days since I saw Taylor. Three whole days of me moping around the apartment, feeling sorry for myself. Justin's too young to have noticed anything - I mean, sure, he did question why I've suddenly been home so much when I don't usually come home until late in the afternoon, but he doesn't need much as an explanation.

Ashley's interrogation, however, was on a completely different level. She realized something was off the second she saw me. Then we had a long talk about what I should do, although I already knew what I was going to do. I was going to do nothing. I took a week off work and if Taylor showed up again, I'd resign. I simply do not have the stomach for anything he has to say to me, not one thing.

Of all the scenarios I had in my head about how we'd see each other again - and there were quite a few of those - I never had that in mind. I imagined me showing him that I don't need him, that I never did. I wanted him to see that I'm just fine without him, I wanted him to apologize, to beg, to feel just as badly as I did when he left me.

But instead, I just stood there, unable to get what I wanted to say out of me. I was too much of a coward to face him and ran the first chance I got.

But I can't think about what I need, because there's a little boy living in this apartment and he'll always come first, which is why I've had to ask myself a lot of questions, the most dominant one being whether or not I'm being selfish. I know it makes Justin sad, not having a father. Obviously, I told him he just doesn't have one, which he doesn't know isn't true yet from a biological standpoint. The Taylor I got to know, though - the one who didn't leave me and his son - that man would want to know his child, he would want to take care of him.

The knock on my door is repeated again, this time even louder and more impatient. "I'm coming," I exclaim, annoyed.

I look at myself in the mirror for a second before answering. My blonde hair is a tangled mess and there are dark circles under my tired eyes, which is kind of strange, since I spent the past few days doing nothing but sleeping. I'm not expecting anyone, but I'm almost never expecting anyone except for the two people in my life that I still won't see for some time, so I don't bother to do anything about my appearance.

Opening the door, I'm already preparing ways to send the person off, when I'm, for the second time this week, met with the ever so familiar face. Of fucking course it's him. But I'm not in the mood to cry this time. This time I'm not the sad, broken girl I was that night he called me.

At first we just look at one another. I don't know what I'm searching for in his eyes. Remorse? Maybe. But he was always so good at hiding how he felt; I could never tell whether he was mad at me or wanted to kiss me, he only let me see his emotions when he wanted me to. And right now, I see so many things happening within him that I don't think he's ever been this open.

No. I have to remember why I'm even in this situation, locked in from the outside world, having two jobs, and crying myself to sleep. "What do you want?" I make my voice as cold as it allows me. "And how do you even know where I live?" I follow up, the thought just occurring to me. This apartment wasn't connected to me or him in any way at the time we were seeing each other, so he either had to follow me here or ask someone who knows me, and that's a pretty short list of people.

"I, uh..." he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looks down, and audibly swallows, "I asked around." What? Who did he ask? The only people who know where I live are my boss and Ashley; I didn't even tell my address to Andy.

I protectively cross my arms over my chest as he refuses to look up. If I can give him credit for anything, it's that throughout these two encounters of ours, he's seemed honest and not pretending to feel something he's not – but, then again, he was never really one to lie. "And what are you doing here?" The tears sting in my eyes again, but this time I'm not letting them slip away.

When our eyes meet there's pure sorrow in his. Why does he seem to be in agony, just seeing me? He was the one who fell out of love with me, who cheated on me. He was the one who told me to go. We dated for 4 years, so to make that decision he must've thought about it a lot. How can he be regretting it now?

"I wanted to see you," his voice is small, almost like he's afraid to talk, to scare me away.

I scoff and look to the side. He wanted to see me. "I guess you should've thought about that five years ago," I answer, and his face scrunches up in hurt from my comment. I don't feel sorry for him. He doesn't have the right to play the victim here.

I raise my arm, prepared to shut the door. I've had enough of this. He can't just show up out of nowhere and expect me to want to talk to him. I don't. I'm better off. "Wait," he doesn't let me close it, placing his hand on the exact spot as mine except from the other side.

"Why, Taylor? Why should I listen to _anything_ you have to say to me?"

"Because I'm sorry," he cuts me off from saying anything else.

Another humorless laugh escapes my lips. "Oh, really? Well, a sorry doesn't cut it," my voice cracks as the tiny sob makes it through the severe defenses I put up.

"Please, Hayley, just let me talk to you," he begs, desperation rippling through his body. "Let me explain. There's so much you don't know, and I just want to make this right."

This is the first time the anger succumbs and I stop making my voice more confident than I actually feel. I close my eyes and weigh my options. I could let him explain and possibly let him into my life again, only to have my heart broken; or, I could do what's best for me, and most importantly for my child. "No, Taylor, nothing you say will change anything. We're done, this is done," I take in a ragged breath without looking at him, because I know that just might break me. "It has been done for a long time now, you know that."

He's not giving up, though. "No, you don't get it, I-"

"Hayley?" A different voice interrupts our conversation. Ashley? What is she doing here? She isn't supposed to be here for another few days since I've taken time off work, which means I'm the one looking after Justin.

Taylor turns around to see who spoke my name, and the reaction on her face when she sees the man she's heard a million stories about from me is instant. Her eyes go wide at the sight of him, and then connect with mine straight away. Panic. That's what's in hers, pure panic. Why is she panicking? I'm the one freaking out over here.

Then I see the little boy emerge from behind Ashley, and time stops. No, no, no. This can't be happening. Justin says something, but I don't hear it as everything's moving in slow-motion. Looking at my best friend, I see that her expression isn't as frantic as mine is - but I can tell she knows exactly what's about to happen.

"Mom," I make out his words and for a moment completely ignore Taylor's presence. "I was waiting for you, where were you?"

I step back, realizing I forgot to pick him up from practice. I must've fallen asleep for longer than I thought. _Fuck._ "Come on, Justin, let's go make you something to eat," Ashley takes his hand, doing a way better job of putting on an 'everything's fine' expression than me.

"But I want to talk to mom," the kid whines, and all I can think of is the still person beside me who has yet to say a word.

"You two can talk later, come on," and with that they disappear inside the apartment, leaving the door open just enough for me to be able to get back, but not enough for them to hear our conversation.

My arms hang loosely at my sides and all I can hear in that moment is Taylor's intense breathing. He's not dumb; all he has to do is take one look at the boy and the resemblance is undeniable. And even if that wasn't a straight giveaway, the fact that he's named Justin, after his brother, ensures how this will go.

"Who is that boy?" Taking a look at him, I realize that I've never seen him shake like he is now. He's never had anger issues; he was always the voice of reason in our relationship. I've only witnessed him lose his temper very few times, so for him to be in this state now is just another hint that he's connected the dots. Towering over me, he speaks again, more demanding this time. "Hayley, who is that boy?" He's definitely gotten bigger over the years. Not to say he was ever not strong, but he must've gained a lot of muscle since I last saw him.

"My son," I answer truthfully, bracing myself for his reaction. I know I'm just delaying the inevitable, but I don't know what else to do.

"How old is he?" I can tell Taylor's doing his best to stay calm, and it's taking all of his self-control.

"He's just turned four," the anticipation on his face before my answer was one filled with fear. I get front row seats to see that the answer I gave him just confirmed his suspicions. But I don't owe him anything. He completely blocked me out of his life after we broke up; I tried to get in contact with him, and he was the one to make sure that would never happen. He's the reason he isn't in Justin's life, he's the one to blame.

Taylor's probably still in denial as his questions continue, while I pray that this is just a bad dream that I'll soon wake up from. It can't be true, because that'd mean he'll want to get to know my – _our_ – son, and then when he leaves again, the little boy will be left heartbroken. "Why does he look like me," I stay silent, "and why is his name Justin?"

"You know why," I want to sound strong, but my voice comes out small.

"I want you to say it," he orders, and I'm back to hating him. Who the hell does he think he is? I'll be damned if after the hell he's made me go through, he'll stand there and talk to me like that.

"You don't have a right to want anything from me. Just leave," I tell him, although I know it won't have any effect on him - he very rarely backs down from things.

"I'm not going anywhere until-" he suddenly closes his mouth and takes another step closer to me. Hesitating before speaking - as he seems to be at a loss for words - he asks, "Is that my son?"

There goes nothing. "Yes," I whisper, staring deep into his eyes the whole time. His expression is what I imagine it would look like if someone had just shot him. I can't help but feel at least a little bit sorry for him, now that I see his reaction. After all, his son is four years old, and until 5 seconds ago he didn't even know he existed.

"Oh my God," both of his hands grab fistfuls of his hair and pull it in opposite directions. "How could you not tell me this? He's _four_ , and all this time you didn't think to tell me? How could you?" He asks me, pacing back and forth in the hall. Okay, if he wants to play the blame game, I'm happy to take the easy win.

"How could _I_ do that?" I'm fuming with anger, and all of the things I've wanted to say to him for years finally start coming back. "You were the one who cut all ties with me! _You_ broke up with me over the phone, _you_ said you didn't love me anymore, and because that wasn't enough, _you_ cheated on me and didn't even have the guts to tell me face to face. You think I didn't try to contact you when I found out I was pregnant? Of course I called you! A thousand times! But you blocked every way for me to talk to you. And after seeing the news about you being with someone else, I didn't have the strength to book a flight and go down there. Justin and I are better off, anyway, because you're just going to leave again."

"I never would have left had I known I had a _son,_ and you _know_ that! You should've tried harder to get in touch with me." I stand there not having an answer. That is something that's crossed my mind; that I should've sucked it up and at least told him somehow. I don't even exactly remember what I was feeling at the time, everything was happening too fast.

But even if I really am partially to blame for this, none of what happened would have if he hadn't cheated, left and blocked my phone number. "No, Taylor, you do _not_ get to turn this around on me. Maybe I could've done more to get in contact with you, but I was too busy being heartbroken that after 4 years of us dating, you'd gotten with someone else in no more than a week. So, yes, maybe if I had tried harder you would've known, but I wouldn't've even been in that situation if it wasn't for you. So don't you dare say it's my fault," I finish, surprised I'm not crying yet.

"Fuck, you're right, I know. I can't believe this is real," he keeps on going back and forth. "I'm such an idiot, damn it!" Well, I can't really argue with that.

I give him a moment to process everything. This is what I had in mind whenever I would imagine the eventual situation in which we'd reunite - him desperately regretting what he's done. But now that that's actually happened, it doesn't feel as great as I thought it would, because in my head, I still want to protect him - I can't help it. And given just how destroyed by the news he seems to be, I know this will haunt him for the rest of his life.

"How old did you say he is?" He asks me out of nowhere, his eyes still red from the tears that I couldn't see directly, although it was obvious they were there.

"His fourth birthday was a little over a week ago," I answer, my tone neutral.

"Four years," he whispers. "I missed four years of my son's life, and it was all for nothing."

"What do you mean, 'for nothing?'" I ask, as a crease forms in between my eyebrows. Does being 'for nothing' mean that he and the girl he cheated on me with didn't stay together? That doesn't make much sense, though.

He pauses and shakes his head. I know what that means; I still remember exactly what his reactions to things mean, and this one's telling me that he's not going to answer. "Can I see him?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. That is the reality of the situation I've been dreading - the two of them getting to know one another. I've always known Taylor would be a great father, but that's not what's bothering me. If I really do let Justin get attached to him - and I know he will do just that if I let them spend time together - I'll never be able to trust Taylor not to leave us again. And I can't let Justin go through what I went through.

"You're not seriously thinking about not allowing me to spend time with him, are you?" Taylor breaks my train of thought. Yup, he can still see directly inside my head, no surprises there.

"What proof do I have that you're going to stay? Or that you even _want_ to stay? This isn't something you can just leave behind when you've had enough like you did me, this is a child. And once he gets used to having you around, and if I were to eventually tell him you're his father, you can't leave. Not in a month, or a year, never."

"Of course I'm not going to fucking leave, he's my kid!" he half yells. Not once throughout the years of knowing him have I seen him this - for lack of better words - unstable.

"I'm sorry, Taylor, I just can't trust you. It's as simple as that. I'll always put him first no matter what the situation is, and you're just not someone I trust anymore. Not even for me as much as for him," at this point, I'm not even really angry anymore, and I'm tired of fighting with him - even though I could probably count the amount of times we've fought on only one of my hands.

"Just give me a chance, Hayley, please. If you don't think you can trust me yet, that's fine, I guess, but you can't keep me from him." He's right, though. I can't. I know I can't, because, firstly, every parent deserves a chance to know their child, and second, by the looks of Taylor right now, he's not going to give up the fight any time soon.

"Taylor, I..." I'm not ready to give up the decision I made to protect Justin and I.

"Hayley, I'm his father. You should know better than anyone what it's like to not have a father." That sentence is like a punch to my gut. I blink back the tears that form in the corners of my eyes at the mention of my dad's death.

"That's a low blow," I answer, but it's inevitably what forced me to - in my head - agree to his request. Of course that thought's crossed my mind. Losing my father was one of the hardest things I've been through in my life, and I often have to ask myself whether I've been putting Justin through the same thing.

"I'm sorry, but I can't get a no from you, not when it comes to this." I can tell he means his apology. After all, at the end of the day, that is what I'm searching for in him. A person that would do anything for their child – a parent.

I blink, nodding ever so slightly and avoiding looking into his eyes. Am I really going to do this? Am I really letting Taylor back into my life? No, I'm not doing that - I'm not letting him back into _my_ life, I'm letting him into _Justin's_ life, and not even really that. He'll just spend a little time with him, and if the boy likes him, maybe I'll let them be together more often. I'm never letting my defenses back down, though, not when it comes to the ex-love of my life.

"Okay," I say, flatly.

He stares at me, disbelief on his face. "Really?"

I nod. "You're right. I can't not let him see you, not give him a chance to know you."

His big hand takes mine, and the warmth of it takes me back down memory lane to the time we spent together, the countless times he held my hand in the past. For a split second I lean into his touch, but that's about the moment my defense mechanisms kick back in, and I quickly jerk my hand away.

He clears his throat, and his arms rest on his sides again. "Sorry," he says quietly, "old habits, I guess," he refers to holding my hand, and my strength is tested again. "Thank you," he continues after a moment of silence.

I shake the memories of Taylor and I away. "Everything will be on my terms," I begin. "I decide when and how you get to see him."

"Okay," he agrees, seemingly without a second thought.

"If you're late just once, it's done," I continue, "and if you tell Justin who you really are without me agreeing to that, it's over for good." I state my most important condition. The little boy can't know who Taylor is as long as I'm not completely sure he's staying - which will probably be never.

"Of course, I won't say anything you don't want me saying."

There's a pause in the conversation that's filled with silence. "Alright then," I begin when I come up with a place where he could meet us. "I'll see you tomorrow in the park at 3. The one by the baseball field, you can't miss it," I hardly allow myself to think about the situation, figuring the sooner I get it over with the better.

His face lights up just a little bit. "Okay, sounds great. Uh," he starts, and I shoot him a questioning look. That's what he does when he wants to say something he's afraid I won't like. "Is your phone number still the same? I mean, just in case I can't find you guys tomorrow, so that I can just call you instead of wandering around."

I nod slowly, appreciating the sense of humor my life has. The next call we'll share after him breaking up with me 5 years ago is going to be about where myself and our son are. Quite hilarious, if you ask me.

When Taylor leaves, I enter my apartment to find Justin sitting on the couch, eating a sandwich with his eyes glued to the screen of the TV. I slip by him unnoticed to find Ashley in the kitchen, looking more than eager to talk.

"What the hell just happened?" She whispers, making sure the little boy doesn't overhear our conversation.

"He just showed up here out of nowhere. I was about to send him off when you guys emerged. I was sleeping before, I thought I had a few hours before having to pick Justin up," I keep the suit of whispering going and watch Justin from the corner of my eye, making sure he doesn't notice anything but the animated cars on the TV screen.

"What did he want?" She asks, but I'm sure a part of her knows. It's not that hard to guess, after all.

"To see Justin," I answer, her expression revealing that that's what she was expecting, but didn't want to hear.

"You said no, right?" I look away and take a few steps along the bar, walking around her. "You said _yes?_ Are you serious? After all he did to you?" Her questions come fast after one another.

"I'm very aware of what he did to me, Ash," I say, turning around abruptly to face her. "Believe me, that is hard to forget."

"Why did you agree, then?" She's shaking her head, waving her arms around while talking.

"Because he's his dad, and I can't let him grow up without a father while knowing that he wanted to be in his life. I was able to live with it until now, because I convinced myself that Taylor didn't care about Justin, but now I can't lie like that anymore. If only for the fact that I'd give anything to have my dad back," I finish, my scars once again re-opened.

"What are you going to do?" Ashley asks after a short pause.

"I don't know," I admit, "I'm really scared. I mean, how can I trust him? How can I ever trust him again, after what he did?"

"Not sure you can," she answers with what I needed to hear. I can't, I'm not going to. With Justin, I might trust him one day. If Taylor truly wants to be his father, then I can't make that a bad thing. But I'm not trusting him with my heart, never again. It might've turned out to be the best mistake I've ever made, but not even Justin was able to take away the pain. He eased it, maybe - but I don't think I'll ever fully heal.

When I see Taylor the next day, I still haven't decided how I feel about him. Does he really want to be a father to Justin? Probably. But does he know what it takes? I doubt it.

I know how much time he spends training during the season, and I know that means that he won't have much time to see the boy at all. Especially if he's still with the same manager, who pushed him way too much to be good, to be better than everyone else.

And Taylor being Taylor hated letting people down, so he did just what was asked of him - pushing his body to the limit, not leaving any time for anyone or anything in his life except for hockey.

I spot him stepping from one foot to the other, checking his watch every now and then. He had to text me where we were supposed to meet, since I was kind of in a hurry to leave yesterday. I have to say I'm surprised to see him here 5 minutes before 3. One thing he could never get right was being on time, so he's either changed or he just really cares about how today's gonna go.

We make eye contact and his shoulders sink, telling me how much tension was in them before that. He flashes me a grin, and once again I fail to stop the flood of memories into my mind. I have to take a moment and stop walking, closing my eyes, trying to forget about all of the times he's looked at me like that, and hating that it still hasn't lost its knee-weakening factors.

When I open my eyes again, Justin's tugging on the fabric of my t-shirt, looking up at me with questions in his eyes. We only have to walk a few feet, as Taylor's already started closing the distance between us. When he's close enough, he tries to keep his gaze on me, but his eyes keep darting down to the boy next to my legs, so he's hardly even looking at me.

"Hi," he says, his voice uneven. It's really hot today and he's wearing a grey tank top, revealing just how much he's gained since I last saw him almost 5 years ago. He was definitely lean back then, but his arms are huge now, the outlines of his muscles a lot more defined with the addition of some new tattoos.

"Hey," I greet him, but don't have much time to say anything else before Justin chimes in.

"Hey, I know you," the little boy's voice sounds like the one he uses when he accuses someone of stealing his candy. His little finger is pointed at the - compared to him - massive person standing in front of us.

Taylor looks down at him as if he's in shock. "Hello."

"Justin, it's rude to point, I've told you a thousand times," the parent in me takes over the girl who's facing someone she was in love with for years.

"Sorry," he says, looking at the ground.

"This is my friend Taylor," I say, not wanting to put him on the spot – though, maybe _some_ part of me wants to.

"Hi," the boy's high pitched voice sounds too similar to what Taylor's must've sounded like when he was his age, "I'm Justin." He offers his tiny hand.

His father's face looks like what he's seeing isn't real. "Hey there," he crouches down to reach his son's height, "it's nice to meet you, Justin, I'm Taylor."

"How do you know my mom?" He questions, his tone too accusing to be polite. I refrain from calling him out on it, though, not wanting to disturb Taylor's first time talking to his child and also being really curious to hear what he's going to come up with, since something tells me he won't say, 'I broke her heart and left her knocked up with you a few years ago,' even though I'd much appreciate the irony.

"Uh," an absent smile spreads across Taylor's face, clearly not expecting the question, but amused by it, "we're old friends," he answers. Yeah, "couse that's accurate.

"Taylor wanted to go out with us today, so here he is," I finish, and can see that Justin's eyes are still slightly squinted, suspicious of the older York. I smile to myself, finding it funny that that's exactly what Taylor's reaction was to anyone new I introduced him to.

"Yeah, I-" Taylor stands up and searches for something in his back pocket. "I got you something." His hand goes down, holding a small object I can't identify.

Justin takes it curiously, and only when he's holding it in his hand can I see what it is. I manage to suppress the gasp that almost escapes me when I see what he gave him.

"A fridge magnet?" The boy asks, confused and a bit let down, probably having expected something more interesting. The magnet has the words Nashville written on it; it's the exact same one that Taylor got me all those years ago when we were both still teenagers, with the words 'don't say I never gave you anything.' "Wait, we already have this one," Justin says, and I'm on the verge of killing him for revealing that I still have Taylor's gift.

T shifts his gaze from the boy to me, a small but hopeful smile on his lips. I shrug as if I don't care, trying to make it seem like it doesn't mean anything to me. I've wanted to get rid of it for a long time, but never quite got to it, which I definitely regret at this very moment. I'm not even sure why I put it up there when we moved here, but it's been in the same spot for so long now it never occurred to me why I put it there in the first place. I could convince myself that it was so that I remember home, but I seriously doubt that's the truth.

"Yeah, Nashville is where your mom and I met. It's a really cool place," Taylor answers without addressing the fact that I haven't taken the magnet off the fridge yet, which is something I silently thank him for.

"Thanks," Justin says, sounding confused.

"So, what are we doing today? Do you guys have any plans?" Taylor asks after a short moment of silence.

"Mom promised we'd go to the playground," Justin answers immediately, not waiting for me to say anything. His sentences being rapid and not thought through isn't a new thing.

"Yeah?" Taylor looks at me, his face seemingly abnormally excited to visit the local playground. "Sounds great, let's go then."

"Awesome," the boy half shrieks. "Wait till I show you how I can climb. I'm the fastest out of all the kids," he brags, and once again my parental instincts kick in.

"Justin, I told you not to brag like that," I remind him again, knowing it won't have any effect.

"Oh, yeah?" Taylor's mouth twitches, and both of them successfully ignore me. "You're gonna have to show me, or else I won't believe you," he teases him.

"Oh, I will," the younger York says with determination lacing his voice, his brows furrowed in an attempt to make the most 'you'll see' expression he can, and I can't help but see his father in that.

Walking to the playground, Taylor and Justin get talking, their conversation similar to that of people who've known one another for a very long time - of father and son. By the way Justin is acting, I can tell he's gonna want to spend as much time with Taylor as I'll let him. He doesn't know any older male except for Jay, and he's not his biggest fan. Which is also something I have yet to understand, as Jay's always done everything in his power to earn the boy's respect.

When we arrive at the playground, it's like I'm not even there, given the two of them have been talking the entire time.

"Aright then, show me how you're the best," Taylor challenges the little boy, who's like for proving people wrong is almost as big as his father's.

Justin doesn't say anything, but rather just looks at Taylor funny before sprinting off to show him that he truly is the fastest. He doesn't bother telling the other kids to get out of his way, instead just going right around them. I have to admit that he definitely did get his talent for physical activities from his father's side - an NHL player - and certainly not from mine.

He gets to the top of the small wooden replica of a castle and waves at Taylor, rapidly moving his hands in the air and drawing attention to himself, which is something he does a bit too often. Taylor chuckles and nods approvingly, something unidentifiable in his eyes. Pride, maybe?

"I see you two are getting along," I comment, not really sure what else to tell him.

He lets out a breath. "Yeah," his eyes meet the ground below his feet before looking up again, "he's an amazing kid."

I scoff. "You've known him for like 15 minutes, how can you know what he's like?"

"Well, I've always had good instincts with people," he says, innocently, "like with you," he adds, and the temperature of my blood starts rising again without me having any control over it.

"Wish I could say I feel the same," I answer distantly, needing to let him know that I'm not happy to be in his presence.

"I deserve that, I know," he says, sincerity in his voice, but it's not enough to make me lay down my weapons.

"I'm glad you do," I say, not wanting to let him get off that easy. I refuse to look at him, using the fact that my son could very well fall at any second if he wasn't careful as an excuse not to meet his eyes that I can feel burning into the side of my head.

"Believe me, Hayley," his gaze shifts onto my own eyes when I finally give in and face him, "I know." His words are heavy and too honest. I know he regrets everything, or at least he's done a very good job of acting like he does - but that still doesn't change anything.

Silence creeps up between us, and for a while the only thing I hear is children's laughter and the soft crackling of small stones below their tiny feet as they run around. I wish I could have that kind of freedom.

"I'm sorry," Taylor says out of nowhere.

I look at him, the question I know I don't need to say written across my face.

"For everything. I know I fucked up," his knuckles are completely white as they hold onto the bench we're now sat upon, "God, I know. If I could go back, I'd do everything differently, but it's too late now."

"You mean you wouldn't have cheated on me?" The venom in my voice is too apparent, but I can't do anything to hide it, especially when we get to the topic of him being unfaithful.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "You don't know everything, Hayley. I wish I could tell you, but it wouldn't be fair, and I can't be selfish with you, not after everything that's happened. I know I'm not making any sense, but please at least try to believe me when I say that I am so sorry. It sounds ridiculous now, but I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You know what, Taylor? I do believe you. I believe that you're sorry," yet again the anger is replaced by sadness, "but I can't forgive you. If it wasn't for Justin then maybe after a long time I could," I shake my head, not being able to face him, afraid of the hurt I could possibly see in his eyes. Or perhaps I'm scared to see that he doesn't care, that he's not nearly as wounded as I am. "But I just can't. Not right now, and probably not ever," I add the last sentence after a short pause.

From the corner of my eyes I can see his shoulders sinking at my confession. I still find it hard to believe that he's this hurt after cheating on me, but it's proving to be harder and harder to resist the possibility that he really is.

"Mom!" My son's high-pitched voice carries over to the both of us.

"What's going on, sweetie?" I ask when he's close enough and stops running.

"Can we go to the batting cages? I want to show Taylor how good I am at baseball," he requests, once again ignoring my no-bragging rule. It is so like him to change his mind constantly; we haven't even been here for 5 minutes, and he already wants to go somewhere else. "Pleaseee," he whines, after noticing me looking at him in a way that reminds him that he's doing something I told him not to do a thousand times.

"Okay, but I'm not sure Taylor-"

"You play baseball?" Taylor asks, interrupting me, the sadness from before gone all of a sudden. Justin nods at him excitedly, and his father's face lights up. "I love baseball. I used to play it with my dad all the time when I was your age. I bet you're better than me, though," I think about being mad at him for not letting me finish, but decide not to be.

"Don't worry, I'll show you," Justin replies fast.

"Great, I was thinking I could use someone to show me how to play, and it seems like you're the best guy for that." Before he even finishes his sentence, Justin's feet are already shuffling towards the batting cages that are a few minutes from here, just outside the park.

"Justin, wait!" I almost yell, and his annoyed face turns around, letting me know he's not happy with my stopping him. Nonetheless, he waits for the two of us to reach him before walking again.

Once again, the whole way there the only ones talking are the two males. Taylor pays for one cage and looks at me, asking for my permission to enter it with Justin. I hate that after all this time, all I have to do is look him in the eyes to know what he's thinking. I nod, letting him know he can.

I watch Taylor pick up a baseball bat and attempt to take a stance so that he's ready to strike the balls, but Justin starts walking around him, correcting his feet, his arms, and pretty much everything else. The fact that the boy's talent for this game is yet again something he took from Taylor isn't surprising to me, since no matter how hard I try I cannot hit the ball - but it still somehow gets to me.

Taylor says something with a grin, and Justin's laugh makes me smile. The first ball that comes at Taylor goes unstruck, but I'm about 99% sure he did that on purpose, so that Justin could give him more instructions, which he's quick to do while his father listens intently. The boy makes a motion with his hands, waving an imaginary bat, and Taylor copies it perfectly, revealing that he indeed does have a lot of experience with the game. Justin cheers when the next ball that shoots at his dad goes flying across the space until it reaches the end of the cage.

When Taylor looks behind him to meet my eyes, I realize I'm smiling - grinning like an idiot, actually - and when he sees my expression, something in his eyes sparks up. He nods at me and quickly returns his attention back to the boy, whose patience is running out the second he doesn't have his father's full attention.

I watch them for what seems like a moment and forever at the same time. Taylor's more than a natural at this. Anytime the two of us would go here, Justin would try to teach me something, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not for the life of me hit the damn ball. He always said it was fine, that the next time I'd get it, but I never did. And the first time Taylor goes with him, he's having more fun than he ever did with me. As much as I don't want it to be true, I can't take his role when it comes to this, especially when he's so good at it.

A kid needs both parents, it's as simple as that. I did try to take him here with Jay, who would have no problem with doing the impossible - which is hitting the ball - but because of the boy's dislike for him, it didn't work out.

My phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, and when I pull it out, I see Ash's name on the screen. Picking it up, I put the device to my ear. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hi, um, I'm just calling to tell you that I can't be with Justin next Tuesday. I know you have work, but this is really important. I have to be out of town for the entire week or else my job could not be my job anymore," she says, her tone apologetic.

Shit. I have work then - something I quite literally can't afford to talk myself out of. I run my hand through my hair and blow out some air.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"It's fine," I reply, "you already do so much for me, I understand if you can't be here all the time," I finish. The last thing I want is to make her feel bad after all she's done for us. We talk for a little while about the Taylor situation and then quit the call.

Not too long after we hang up, the two boys get out of the cage and put away their helmets, laughing. Taylor's hair is one big dark mess when it's exposed to the air again, not being contained under the plastic object anymore. It looks exactly like it did when he took off his hockey helmet. Damn it, why do I remember that?

"What's going on?" Taylor asks, probably referring to the frown on my face.

"Uh," I bend down and look to Justin, "Ashley can't watch you next Tuesday, so you're probably going to have to spend the evening at preschool," I say, and the kid's shoulders slump.

"But I hate preschool," he whines. "Please mom, I really don't wanna go there," he puts on his best pouting expression and I tilt my head to the side, feeling sorry for him. I know how much he dislikes the place, which is why I do everything in my power to try to make him spend as little time in there as possible.

"There's nothing I can do, Justin, I have to be at work," I explain, although I know he won't understand.

"But you're always at work," his arms are crossed on his chest now.

"I could watch him," Taylor chimes in softly, and I shoot him a glare. This is a low blow, since he knows I won't be able to say no in front of Justin, especially if he's begging me to say yes.

"Yeah, that'd be awesome! Mom, please can I be with Taylor? Please?"

I look at the father again, letting him know I'm not happy about him doing that. He shrugs and presses his lips into a thin line. "Sure," I answer, and the kid starts jumping around in happiness, which eases my anger. It's hard for me to be mad at Taylor if he's capable of making our son so happy.

_9 years ago_

_I walk into the classroom to see an empty seat where my lab partner usually sits. A crease forms in between my brows. That's weird; Taylor hasn't missed a single class since the start of the year, except for school events - also known as hockey games, since, even though he's only a sophomore, he's one of the most productive players on the team._

_Not really knowing anyone else other than him seeing as it's only been a few weeks since my mom and I moved here, I put my things on the desk and take my seat, suddenly scared that he won't come._

_Ten minutes later I'm tapping my foot fast, my eyes glued to the door, and the seat next to me is still empty. When Mr. Johnson, our bio teacher, enters the room, he starts talking about today's assignment without noticing I don't have a partner, so I raise my hand._

_"Yes, Ms. Williams?" He asks a short moment later when he looks up from the computer._

_"I don't have a partner. Is Taylor gonna come?" I question, unable to hide the worry in my voice._

_"Ah, yes, Mr. York isn't going to be here today."_

_"Why?" I ask, maybe a bit rudely, not letting him continue whatever he might've wanted to say._

_"Personal reasons," he answers, this time not giving me a chance to interrupt him. "Go sit with Sarah, she doesn't have a partner today, either."_

_I mindlessly pack my things and move three tables forward to where the girl who never says anything sits._

_That evening when I'm walking home from school, I can't take my mind off the Taylor situation - although it is important to mention that I wasn't able to do that for the entirety of the day._

_Personal reasons. What the hell does that mean? What reasons does Taylor have to ditch school? He's definitely not the type to skip classes, and I doubt it's got something to do with hockey, as the teacher would've just said that, not to mention the fact that Taylor tells me when he's away for games._

_Not being able to put my mind at rest, I turn the corner to where his house is, needing to see for myself why he was gone._

_As I'm nearing his door, the thoughts that he might not want to see me start flooding my mind. At the end of the day, he's tried to be my friend, and, at the beginning, especially, I didn't really let him even properly talk to me._

_I thought I was doing the right thing; I couldn't really believe that someone like him would want to talk to me, so I just didn't let him near me, assuming he was simply playing a game or something. But over the past few weeks, he's shown that that's not his intention - at least, it doesn't seem like it is._

_Out of nowhere, I find myself standing in front of the York house. It's a nice brick house, with a garage on the right and a carefully kept lawn. I've been here a total of one time, not ever going inside. Taylor and I were just walking home from school and I decided to go with him._

_Closing my eyes, I knock on the door, swallowing the nervousness as I step from one foot to the other. A boy who looks to be a few years older than Taylor - though quite similar looking - opens the door with a blank expression on his face._

_"Hi," he says, sounding like he'd just woken up from a nap._

_"Hey, um, is Taylor home?" I manage to ask without sounding like someone is strangling me._

_"Taylor!" He shouts behind him into the hall, unnecessarily loudly. "He'll be here soon. Gotta warn you though, he's not in the best mood." With that sentence, he turns around and disappears into the house, not giving me a chance to ask him about what's going on._

_A moment later Taylor appears in the doorway, dark blue bags under his eyes and the tiny bit of facial hair he's managed to grow at the age of 15 unevenly spread across his chin. His expression changes from annoyed to surprised when he sees me. "Hayley?"_

_"Yeah, I-" I stop, not really sure what the justification for me being here is. "You weren't in bio today, so I wanted to check up on you. The teacher said it was for personal reasons, and I got kinda worried, since if it was for a game or something, you'd have told me."_

_A small but grateful smile spreads across his lips. "You were worried about me?" I nod. "So you don't hate me like you try to convince me you do," he says in his raspy voice, sounding as if he's just solved world hunger._

_"Come on, what happened to you today? Are you okay?" His eyes darken again when I change the subject._

_He clears his throat and looks behind him, as if checking to see if anyone's watching us. "Wanna go walk with me?"_

_"Sure," I answer, and he steps out of his house, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie._

_We walk the first few minutes in silence, me knowing he'll talk when he feels like it, that he doesn't need to be reminded of the question._

_"Life is a funny thing, you know," he finally says, making no sense._

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_There's another long pause in which neither of us says anything._

_"Kyle's dead," he says flatly, and I stop in my tracks in the middle of the not-busy road, needing to process the information he just threw on me. Kyle is Taylor's best friend, by far the only one on the hockey team who's able to match Taylor's abilities within the game._

_"What?" My breath hitches in my throat. He can't be dead; I saw the two of them talking in school just a day ago._

_"He was in a car accident yesterday. They said he was already gone when the ambulance arrived at the scene," he says all that while sitting down on one of the swings we reached while walking._

_"Oh my god," I whisper, having a hard time believing what he's saying. The two of them had been best friends since they were kids, so even though I hardly knew him personally, I know that this has got to be horrible for Taylor. "I'm so sorry," I say, although I know that won't help him feel better from my own experience._

_"Thanks," he says mindlessly while his stare is glued to the ground, his feet lightly touching the ground ever so often to keep himself moving._

_I take the swing next to the one he's on, trying to comfort him with my presence. "When did you find out?" I try to be cautious when talking to him._

_"They called me a few hours after it happened, so yesterday evening," he answers absentmindedly._

_"Do you want to talk about it?"_

_He stares to nowhere for a short while before he shakes his head slightly. "I don't know."_

_"I know how bad this hurts," I begin, in the hopes of making him feel better by sharing in the misery, "my dad died last year, and it was... well, it was terrible, unbearable._ _Still is, actually."_

_His head slowly rises and his eyes connect with mine. I let the tears slowly form, not trying to suppress them so that he can see that he's not alone, that I'm really letting him in this time, not running away._

_"Wow, I-" he begins._

_"You don't have to say anything, I just-" I move over to the bench, not wanting to be on the swing anymore. "I just wanted you to know that you don't have to deal with this alone, like I had to."_

_"What do you mean? What about your mom?"_

_I scoff. Yeah, that's a very good question, isn't it? "She handled it a lot worse than me, which means alcohol and drugs. So while I was 14 and grieving the death of my father, I was also working part time jobs to make sure we'd have something in the fridge," I finish and laugh humorlessly._

_"I had no idea," he sounds astonished as he sits on the bench next to me, leaving the swing behind, too. "How come you never told me?"_

_I bite the inside of my mouth, thinking about what my answer should be. "It's not a topic I enjoy discussing. With anyone."_

_There's another long pause, and when I look at Taylor again, his eyes are red from the unshed tears. Not sure about whether what I'm doing is a good idea or not, I cover his hand with mine. "I know it feels like this pain isn't going to go away," I say, remembering all too well what I felt like the day I found out dad had died, "but people aren't lying when they say that time heals."_

_"It just doesn't seem real," he shakes his head. "I mean, it can't be, right? I talked to him yesterday, how is it possible for him to be gone now?"_

_I lean my body into his side, my temple resting on his shoulder. "What about his family?" I ask, carefully._

_"I don't know; I haven't talked to them yet. But I'm pretty sure they're doing worse than me, which in some way should probably comfort me, but it doesn't. It does the exact opposite of that." I feel something wet in my hair as his voice grows just a little bit stronger than it was a few seconds ago, the quavering having vanished for the most part._

_"Thank you," he says, suddenly. I look up at him with questioning eyes, not knowing what he's thanking me for. "Thank you for coming. I needed it. My parents and my brother tried to talk to me, but it's not the same. And I was certain that nothing would make me feel even a tiny bit better today, but you proved me wrong. So, thanks."_

_"You're strong, Taylor. You have a family, and friends," I say, knowing he has everything I didn't have when I lost my dad, "and you'll be okay." I finish, and feel one of his hands stroking my hair, a touch so gentle yet so meaningful. I realize then that we've never been this close. I've never even let him get within 2 feet of me, god forbid to touch my hair. But as much as I try to deny it to myself, his closeness feels hopeful, like there is something good to come the next day, which is something I haven't felt in a long time._

_"And you," he says._

_"What about me?" I ask, not completely sure what he means._

_"You said I have family and friends," I nod. "Well, I have you, too."_


	4. three

"This apartment's kinda nice," Taylor comments, walking through the hall to the living area of the place I've been calling my home for almost 5 years now. I look at him questioningly, not understanding the surprise he speaks with when saying that. "I just mean- I didn't think you'd be able to afford something like this as a single mom, is all," he says, leaning against the bar.

"Oh," I begin, now completely understanding the situation – he thought I was poor. "Yeah, I have 3 jobs, so I probably make more than you'd expect me to. Plus, I have a friend who knows the owner of this building, hence the good price." I say matter-of-factly, unconsciously attempting to make him feel bad.

"Why do you have 3 different jobs?" His tone is almost accusatory, as if I'd done something to offend him.

"I don't know, maybe to make sure my son has something to eat every night?" My voice comes out with a hint of sarcasm.

He sighs and the tension in his body loosens. "I'm sorry, what I meant to say is that having 3 jobs isn't good for you."

"Believe me, I'm aware. But it's not like I have many options if I don't want to end up on the street or like my mother - which, now that I'm thinking about it, might be even worse than the possibility I mentioned before, to be honest," I justify, not understanding why we're even having this conversation in the first place.

"Look, just pick one job that you want to keep, and let go of the rest. Hell, if you don't want to work at all, that's your choice," I frown at him. Surely his IQ couldn't've gone down so much that he thinks I'll just feed Justin berries I collect outside. "I make a lot of money, Hayley-"

"Good for you," I interrupt him.

"Where I'm going with that, is that you can have it," I slowly turn around and face him, surprised to see honesty, not mockery, in his eyes. "I don't need more money, trust me. If you want to, I'll buy you a nice house anywhere you want, anything if it means you and Justin have a better life. I mean that."

Well, that is probably the last thing I was expecting him to say, but I can't let it show. "Thanks, but no thanks," I say, determined that I don't need his help, not anymore. If I've gotten this far, I'll be fine. "Though that would've been great to hear a few years ago, I'm fine now."

He nods to himself a few times. "I was expecting you to say that."

"Why did you offer, then? If you knew I was going to decline?"

"Because I had to know that I at least tried. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't."

"Well, I'm glad you can live with yourself now." Okay, that might've been a bit too much.

There's a long pause in the conversation, which is probably my fault. I'm having a hard time stopping these comments, though. Although he's said he's sorry, that doesn't change anything - it can't, right? I can't let anything change, even if I wanted to.

"So, when are we picking Justin up?"

"Well, you came early, so in a while," I say, taking a seat on the couch.

"Yeah, I wanted-" he scratches the back of his head. "I don't know, I was hoping you might be able to tell me some things about him," he finishes the sentence, making it sound like a question. "I'm aware you're probably not going to be interested in going somewhere with just me, and the little man doesn't give us much space to talk, so I thought I could show up earlier to get some time with you."

I look around, unsure about my feelings about him at the moment. On the one hand, I should be happy, happy that he wants to know more about his son; he most certainly _should_ want to know. But on the other hand, I'm not fond of him playing games with me.

"Look, Taylor, you don't need to pull these tricks on me, I don't like it."

"I know, I'm sorry. It was stupid. I just couldn't come up with anything else."

"You have a right to know about him; it's actually a good thing that you're interested in that. The fact that whatever we had is long gone doesn't mean you can't know about him. I'm still not completely happy with the two of you seeing each other, but he seems to like you," I finish, surprising even myself at how little I'm pulling away from him.

A cocky smile graces his features. "Everyone likes me."

"Quit kidding yourself," I turn away to hide the small smile I tried to mask as a roll of my eyes.

"You're the only one in denial," he shoots back. Of course he'd win that one - he always did.

I hear him laugh from behind me, and I look in his direction to find him standing at one of the counters, running his hand across something that's got him grinning. It takes me a second to realize just what he's smiling at. "That was a good day," he says under his breath, holding up a years old, carefully pressed, dried out flower stuck in a picture frame. It's long lost its light blue color, but that doesn't change what it means to the both of us.

"So, what do you want to know?" I ask, once again questioning myself about why I still have that, just like the Nashville magnet that's for some reason still on my fridge.

"Anything. What he's like, what he likes to do," he says, while heading to the couch and getting comfortable.

"Well," I begin, remaining seated next to him, but keeping a considerable distance between the two of us, "he likes baseball, as I'm sure you're aware of. He's also touched the piano a few times; I teach him some here and there."

The corner of his mouth tilts up in the most graceful way. "I'm glad he got that from you," he says, sounding almost amazed. "He's got your eyes, too. The first second I saw him, I knew he was yours, because of the eyes."

I stay quiet, doing my best not to let his words affect me. They can't. "You two are identical, though," I reply after a second, when I've gathered myself enough.

"I guess we do look alike," he chuckles, "and I'm glad he shares my passion for sports. I can't wait to play baseball with him some time."

"I thought you were going to want him to play hockey, like you, though. I didn't know you were so fond of baseball," I say, genuinely surprised at how happy he was when we were at the batting cages. I wasn't sure how the famous NHL player would feel about his kid being a lot more interested in the MLB.

"Really?" He sounds a little bit offended. "I don't care what he enjoys, so long as it makes him happy. Isn't that more important than anything?"

"Yeah," I nod. He keeps surprising me with how much _not_ of an asshole he is. After all the years I've spent hating him - or at least convincing myself I do - it's hard to have to let go of those thoughts.

"Can you tell me something?" His eyes get more serious as he turns to face me.

"I think so," I answer, unsure what to do about the sudden change of tone in his voice.

"Did you name him Justin because of my brother?" He sounds like he's almost afraid.

I was expecting this question. I knew it'd come sooner or later; it was bound to be in his head since the first time I told him about his son's name. "Yes," he inhales deeply next to me, "I knew you'd want that. Even though you left, I still wanted you to at least somehow be a part of his life, something he could have without knowing it that'd connect you two. So I named him Justin Taylor York."

He's still for a second. "Thank you. I wasn't expecting that from you, not after what I did."

"I didn't even really question it, to be honest. Like, it wasn't something that I thought about, it was just kind of the way it was always going to be. I don't know, as much as I hated you, I..." I trail off, not really wanting to finish the thought – to show my weakness. I don't even want to admit it to myself, so I stay quiet.

The awkward silence stretches out, so I come up with a harmless question. "Where are we going, anyway?" I was going to plan the evening myself, but he insisted on doing it, so I let him.

Another absentminded smile spreads across his lips. "The ice rink," he says, as if I'm supposed to respond by jumping up and down with excitement.

"Isn't it June? How is there ice right now?" I remember how every summer, the rink in Nashville got rid of the ice, since it would've been way too expensive keeping it cold enough throughout the summer.

"In most rinks there's not, but there's one around here that keeps the ice throughout the entirety of the year," he pauses. "It's kind of the reason I came here in the first place, since I was planning on getting back into the game."

I take the information in. For some reason, it didn't cross my mind to ask him why he actually came. I know it couldn't have been for me, since he had no idea I lived here, so hockey does seem more than likely. "Why did you say you _were_ planning on getting back into hockey, as in, you're not anymore?" I question.

His face scrunches up a bit. "Well, you know, everything's different now. I found out that I have a son, and I have to figure everything that comes with that out before I can allow myself to put any more focus into hockey. I think I'll extend my break for another season - my doctors told me to do that, anyway. I'm only scared to tell Kevin, but he's just going to have to deal with it."

The hairs on my forearms rise when he mentions Kevin. The guy's Taylor's manager, who never used to like me, because I kept telling him to stop pushing Taylor – a teenager at the time – so much. I'm also pretty sure he thought I was distracting him, which was another one of his issues with me.

"What actually happened with that?" I ask, feeling the urge to know about the accident way more than I want to talk about Kevin. "With... what happened to cause you to have to take a break."

"Well," he clears his throat, "we were playing in the final against the Sharks. It was a tie, and I got passed the puck a few seconds before the time would've run out, so I took the shot. Just as I swung at the net, someone lunged themselves at me, and then I don't remember anything."

"I'd been avoiding anything NHL-related ever since we broke up," I begin unexpectedly, not even really sure where I'm going with that. "To be honest, I avoided any sort of sports news altogether. And then a girl who does waitressing with me – who also happens to be a huge hockey fan – mentioned that you had an accident and were in a coma, so I had to look it up," I laugh humorlessly. "And the _next day,_ you show up at the diner. After I hadn't heard anything about you for almost 5 years, you showed up in my life again the day after I watch a video of your head almost breaking into two."

"Wow," he says, blowing out some air, "that's a hell of a coincidence. If it makes you feel any better, I was beyond shocked to see you, too," he says, and I feel like there's more that he wants to say, but he doesn't – which is probably a good thing.

"Why were you planning on getting back into it so soon? You looked quite literally dead on the ice," I shiver as I remember the way his lifeless body looked in a bright red puddle of blood.

He chuckles to himself lightly. "Honestly?" I nod. "I don't have anything else in my life – or I didn't before a few weeks ago, at least. And I just didn't see the point in me staying home for months, not doing anything when I felt just fine. Not to mention that hockey is the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose."

Well, I'm glad to know that the depressing mood hasn't left either of us. "Oh, I forgot to ask," I begin, getting his attention, "how was watching Justin?" I ask, talking about the time Ashley had a work trip. I guess it could've seemed a bit strange, leaving my kid with someone he's known for an hour, but my familiarity with Taylor is more than strong, so the suspicion that he was incapable of taking care of Justin was never really there.

"It was great. I don't remember the last time I had so much fun," he smiles to himself. "Thank you for letting me be with him that afternoon, I know I put you into a bad spot then."

"You're welcome," I do a piss poor job at being mad at him. It's hard when he's so happy about it.

When we pick Justin up, he seems way more excited to see Taylor than me. I forgot to tell him that he'd be with me, so he didn't know he was coming, and the joy on his face is obvious. We drive to the supposed rink with ice in the middle of the summer, and the entire time the kid in the back seat won't stop asking where we're going, since he was told it's a surprise.

I'm kind of afraid of what will happen, although it's not that hard to guess. The two of them will have a great time, and I'll only be left with watching what could've been a happy family moment from afar, wishing things could be different. But they can't.

When we pull into a parking lot, Taylor jumps out of the car and goes to help Justin out of the seat which I'm pretty sure he bought very recently, so that he could drive him around. I'm not sure why, but the gesture itself and knowing that he thought of that makes my heart ache. I watch him pull the boy out of the car and set him down onto the concrete with complete ease, as if he didn't weigh anything. Now, I can tell you that that is not true; he's bigger than your average 4-year-old, and he most definitely isn't light.

Once they're both safely out of the car, I lean on its side and wait for Taylor to get some things out of the trunk. I have to hand it to him, that this is a very, very nice car, something I couldn't even dream of having – at least not before today, when I was basically offered Taylor's entire bank account, but obviously that's out of the question.

The older York slings a big blue sports bag over his shoulder and nods at me before starting towards the entrance. Justin's unable to contain his excitement as he jumps around the both of us, voicing all possible guesses he has as to what it could be. I have to say, though, that it has to be a really expensive place, judging by the other cars parked here looking at least as fancy as Taylor's.

When we enter, the woman at reception takes one look at us and smiles at Taylor. I guess it's probably not rare for people who work at an ice rink to know one of the NHL's most productive players. He leads the way deeper into the building, and the further we go, the chillier it gets, so I pull out the hoodie I brought for Justin, prepared to force him to put it on as soon as he finds out where we are.

Taylor pushes a big door open to reveal an enormous space that could fit thousands of people in it. I can tell that some matches aired on TV must take place in here by the screens all around, not to mention the huge scoreboards at each side behind the nets.

"Whoa," Justin says as he looks around. It must seem so much bigger from his perspective.

It's not empty here, though. There's a few guys on the ice skating around, and they're also definitely very skilled players, given how much ease with which they move.

"Have you ever been ice-skating?" Taylor asks Justin, whose mouth is still open, gawking about. He shakes his head. "Want me to show you how, today?"

"I don't have any skates, though," he suddenly realizes, sounding as if his entire world just crashed. Oh, I should've thought about that. While I'm mentally beating myself up for not telling Taylor we don't have any skates, he stops at one of the benches, puts the big dark blue bag on it, and unzips it.

He turns his back to us as he fishes for something in there, until he's facing us again with a pair of brand new skates in his hand, exactly Justin's size. "I got you some," he says, and his grin only grows as Justin takes them from him in awe. "They'll be perfect for you. This brand is really good, especially if you don't have much experience. I also had them sharpened, so they should ride themselves."

"Thanks!" The boy exclaims, and he hugs Taylor's legs. The father responds by ruffling Justin's hair, having to bend down to reach him. He shoots me a worried look, as if he's scared that I'll yell at him any moment now. I don't have a reason, though, since at the end of the day we seem to have the same goal, which is making the kid happy, and so far he's definitely succeeded in that aspect. So I just smile at him, which makes him grin like he always used to.

While Justin runs off to put his new skates on – though not before I convinced him to throw on his hoodie – Taylor turns to me. "I got some for you, too. I know you're probably not going to want to, and that's fine, but I wanted to bring some just in case you did. So please don't take this as me forcing you to do something you don't want to; just know that the option is there," he finishes. and pulls out a pair of beautiful white skates.

"I, uh-" I begin, and pause to hold up the old ones he gave me years ago. They used to be his when he was young, so they've always been a bit big for me, but it's not that drastic. I always wore them during his attempts at showing me something from the game, but I was pretty much hopeless. Except for the clumsy movements around, I wasn't able to do anything else. "I actually brought these."

My guess is that the same memories that are going through my mind are racing through his, too, as he looks at the beaten up skates that hold so much – probably too much – sentimental value for the two of us. "Oh," I can't read his face, which means he doesn't want me to know what he's thinking, "those will do, then."

Once Taylor helps Justin with the skates we – to the relief of us both – find out that they do fit really well. The second the boy stands up on them he loses his balance, and if it weren't for his father, he would be lying face down on the floor by now.

When we're just about to step onto the ice, two of the guys who were skating around just seconds ago stop at the boards and lean towards us. "What's up, York?" One of them asks, and shoots me a playful look.

"Just passing knowledge down onto a younger generation," he says sarcastically, and the way they talk is definitely a sign that they know one another.

"Well, to be honest, you guys don't seem that many years apart," the other one talks now, motioning to me.

Taylor chuckles. "I didn't mean Hayley, I meant this little guy," he points to Justin, who isn't quite tall enough to be easily seen from where they're standing.

"Oh, that makes a lot more sense," he waves at the kid who's doing his best to seem taller than he actually is while not falling, which looks like a tremendous effort on his part, probably since he's never stood on them before – and, not to mention, he _is_ 4 years old.

"Okay then, you guys have fun, we'll leave you some space," the first one says, and they leave with their hockey sticks in hand, playing with the puck on its blade before taking a direct shot at the net and scoring.

"Thanks," Taylor yells behind them.

I want to ask him about who they are, but first we've gotta teach Justin not to seriously injure himself while trying to skate. I myself have to take a moment to adjust to the instability that is standing on the ice, having to support myself by holding onto the boards.

Taylor crouches down to reach Justin's height and starts showing him how to move around. I can't hear them, but the interest with which the boy listens is nothing short of extremely rare. I slowly give up on my attempts on not hurting myself, going back to the bench and sitting down while rubbing my legs that already hurt, even though it's only been a few minutes.

Justin picks everything up fast – almost too fast – and in a short while he's getting confident, yelling at me to look over at him, so I give him the best proud parent smile I can. I have to do my best to avoid seeing Taylor's face, since I know whatever I'd see just might break me.

Out of nowhere, Taylor shows up in front of me and offers me his hand. "Come on, you used to love this," he says, trying to convince me to join them. So much for not having to do what I don't want to.

"What makes you think that?" I ask him, just a tiny bit annoyed.

"Because I saw you, you were actually pretty good," he continues, and I scoff.

"Yeah, right. I suck at anything that's got to do with sports, you know that," I reply, but the grin doesn't disappear from his face. It's moments like this that make me want to be able to forget our history, so that he won't affect me so much with a simple smile. But I can't.

"Fine," I give in, but don't take his hand while getting up.

When I'm on the ice again, I immediately start moving parts of me that I don't want to be moving, and when I reach out for support, the only thing close enough is Taylor's arm, so I grab him with all the strength I have in an attempt not to fall. I feel his biceps flex under my touch, making his body as solid as it'll allow him. I let go of him as soon as I regain my balance, mumbling a thanks under my breath.

"Come on, you remember this," he takes a hold of my hands and looks at my legs. My breath hitches in my throat at his touch. I know he's doing it to make sure I don't fall, but it still feels too intimate, like all the times he held my hand when we were together. Not to mention the warmth that engulfs me when he does it. How the hell are his hands basically burning when we're literally standing on ice? I will never know.

"You gotta bend your knees, be flexible in that part of your legs," I do as I'm instructed and feel a lot more stable immediately. He is right, though; I do remember it. "See?" His voice is soft as he acknowledges a small victory for me against this place.

I don't let the smile that was threatening to surface escape me, biting my lip instead as I focus my gaze on the white ground beneath us. "Who are those guys?" I ask, remembering that he hasn't yet told me who we had the pleasure of being approached by a few minutes ago.

"Oh, they're from Pittsburg, we've trained together a few times. Cool dudes," he clarifies, and now I get why they seemed so good while I was watching them during the time I spent on the bench. It's because they _are_ that good.

"Don't you think they'll wonder about why you're here with me and a boy that looks like an exact copy of a younger you, when the world thinks you're single and don't have any kids?" I really don't want this to get out so soon, for Justin's sake. He'd have to face paparazzi everywhere, not to mention what the kids around him would do when their parents told them his connection to the famous NHL player.

"Wonder, most definitely," he begins, seemingly not fazed, "but they don't go telling shit to any press or anything like that, if that's what you're thinking. I mean, they're like me. They know what it's like to be chased around by people trying to take your pictures, so there's this unspoken agreement between us that we just don't do that stuff to each other," he finishes, and I try to push the worry aside.

"Alright, then."

He smiles at the hint of disapproval I wasn't able to hide. "Now, try to move your legs a bit," I'm told, after some time of Taylor just pushing me around.

I do just that, but something is blocking me from putting one of the skates back onto the ice. Panicked, I try to place it somewhere else, but it's already too late. I tug onto Taylor's hands, holding onto him for dear life, but he's caught off guard, too, so I just close my eyes tight, preparing for the pain that's about to come with the hard fall.

I open them a few seconds later again as something's vibrating below me. I find myself hugging Taylor's body, who's lying on the ice, laughing. I can hear voices around us. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting that to happen," one of the guys that were here before comes rushing towards us. I take one look at where we used to stand and find that I tried standing on a puck, which resulted in the fall.

"It's fine," Taylor says in between laughs, finally making me realize that this is most definitely not a position I want to be in, especially not with him.

I get up to see a scared looking Justin, who's skating towards me as if he's been doing it his entire life. "Are you okay?" He asks, pure terror in his eyes, and my heart aches, getting even angrier at myself that I allowed my stupid body to get that close to Taylor.

"Yeah, honey, I'm fine," I hug him. "It was just a little fall, nothing happened."

"That's good," he says, and the overprotective part in him shines through, just like it used to when Taylor thought something was wrong.

I look behind me to see Taylor standing there, enjoying the view of the two of us. Crap. I completely forgot to be worried about him; he's the one that took the fall, and it was only worsened by the fact that I landed right on top of him, making his crash a harder one. And all of that is only amplified by the recent injury he had to endure. He appears to read the question from my mind, and gives me a reassuring smile.

But I'm not calm. I'm not calm at all. The fact that I still care this much about his injuries or anything related to him is definitely a clear sign that I'm as far from calm as it gets, which leaves me with only one solution – which, as much as Justin might not like it, will be better for everyone in the end.

I have to keep my distance. More than that, I can't allow myself to feel anything towards him. He's the kid's father, but that's about it, as far as I'm concerned. I don't know why I thought – even for a second – that we could make the friendship thing work.

I just have to choose Justin above myself, which means doing everything in my power to make sure he won't ever feel the pain of his dad leaving his life. I know Taylor keeps going on about how he's not leaving, but I've heard that before. And when it comes to my son's happiness, there can't be any second chances or what if's.

"Why are you so quiet?" Taylor asks when he pulls up in front of our apartment building. "You've hardly said a word the entire time we've been out," he props his elbow where the window is and looks over at me.

I check the back seat to find Justin sound asleep, which means I have the green light to carry out what has to be done. "You can't just buy someone nice things and expect them to instantly like you," he opens his mouth to argue, but I keep whispering as loud as I can, doing my best not to wake Justin up who's sleeping in the back seat. "I know it works with him, he's 4, but it's not going to work with me."

"Hayley, what are you talking about? Is that really why you think I got him the new skates?" He asks, his defense mode kicking in.

"Well, why else? You never did anything for him before..." I trail off. I know that's a weak argument, but I have to do what I have to do.

"Okay, that's a bullshit excuse, and you know it. What is this really about?" He's trying to hide it, but the annoyance in his voice is unmistakable.

"It's about what I said it's about," I shoot back as the whispers start getting louder, and I worry about waking Justin.

"Are you serious? I literally offered you anything you wanted a few hours ago."

"But that's the problem! You know I can't afford the stuff you can, so you're trying to make me feel like I need you," I finish. I'm aware that what I'm saying doesn't exactly make sense, but right now I just desperately need him to stay away. Not to mention that we're far from even when it comes to us doing shitty things to each other.

"Is that honestly what you think? Because I'm finding that hard to believe," he seems to see right through me; he always could. Sometimes it was a benefit – other times, like this one, it isn't. Nonetheless, pretending in front of him is almost impossible for me.

"Well, you better believe it," my teeth are gritted as I whisper.

_9 years ago_

_I'm packing my things as the teacher leaves the classroom, putting all of my textbooks into my backpack. As I'm making my way out from behind my desk, I trip on something. I quickly look for something around me I could safely grab onto to catch myself, but I'm too late, as the only thing I'm met with is the hard ground._

_Snickers and laughs can be heard from around me as I'm blinking away the black dots in front of my eyes, groaning from pain. That hurt way more than I was expecting it to. My chest is rising and falling at a rapid pace, and I'm pretty sure my elbow is bleeding, since I hit it onto one of the desks while falling._

_"Can you move? We're trying to walk here," one of the girls who've been complete bitches to me says in a tone that, at this moment, is the only thing that makes me want to get up, just so I can punch her in the face._

_I growl, ignoring her while inspecting the hand that was holding onto my elbow, revealing that there indeed is blood there. Awesome._

_"What the fuck?" The sound of a friendly voice eases my pain just a little bit. Taylor bends down next to me, his fingertips lightly brushing the hair that got into my face away._

_'Are you okay?' He mouths to me, while the bitch talks. "I don't know, I guess she's just clumsy. We're only trying to get to our next class." Before I get the chance to shake my head that I am very much_ not okay _, he's already up and in the girl's face._

_"You and I both know that you did that on purpose, Hannah," he sounds nothing short of furious, which makes the corners of my mouth twitch._

_"Oh, please, Taylor. If the two of you are such good friends, you should know by now that she just doesn't look at her feet before she walks. Nothing to be ashamed of, so long as you're not slowing us down – so, could you please move?"_

_"Go the other fucking way then!" He waves his arms around, but I can't see much, so I start slowly getting to my feet._

_"Whatever," she says, and I hear her and her friends' footsteps echo as their sound gets more muffled until I can't hear them anymore._

_"I'm sorry this had to happen to you. It's all my fault," he says, helping me to get back on my feet._

_"How is her being a bitch your fault?" I question, not understanding why he's putting all the blame on himself. When I finally manage to stand on my own, the black dots start reappearing, and the rapid blinking begins taking place again._

_"She used to like me, but, for obvious reasons, I never liked her, and now that I'm talking to you, she's super mad that her pathetic presence didn't win over yours," my eyes widen at the last couple of words. That does explain a lot, though. Her and her group of friends have been doing shitty things to me for a while now, but I learned to just ignore them and go about my day, waving it away, hoping they'll just get bored of it eventually._

_"Oh," I reply, as he gently nudges my arm upwards so that he can take a look at the wound._

_"Shit," he mutters, and I hiss in pain when he touches it gently. "Do you want to go to the nurse?" I immediately shake my head. I'm not exactly in the mood to run into Hannah again, and I bet that's where she's expecting me to go first. Then, upon seeing my dismissal of the nurse, he asks, "You know what?"_

_"What?"_

_"Let's ditch this place for today. I'll take you home, clean your elbow up, and then we can do whatever. I just feel like I'll suffocate if I stay here a second longer," his hand carefully touches around my wound, his gaze following it until he looks up at me, an innocent, boyish look in his eyes._

_"I don't really want to get into trouble," I argue, but right now the thought of not being here seems a lot more appealing than spending another 4 hours avoiding any sort of human contact. Especially if I'm somewhere with him. The defenses I put up are slowly but surely going down, getting weaker each second I spend with him. And right now, I don't care._

_"Oh, please, it's just one day. What could happen to us?" He tries to get me to agree, but it's unnecessary since I've already decided I want to go._

_"Let's go, then," I give him my attempt at a weak smile, but grimace in the same exact second, as another jolt of pain shoots up through my elbow._

_He smirks. "That was pathetic."_

_"Wow, and just when I'm starting to think you're not a terrible person, you have to prove me wrong yet again."_

_He snickers and grabs my forearm – the non-injured one – dragging it behind him as we leave the classroom. Luckily, we don't run into anyone on our way out of the building, and by the time we reach his house, I've almost forgotten about the pain._

_"So, how are you doing with Kyle gone?" The question sort of passes through my lips without any thought as we lie in the grass, staring up at the sky. I instantly regret asking that, since it's still a very sensitive topic for him, but it's too late to take it back now._

_He clears his throat as his hands go behind his head, shifting his body a bit. "It hasn't really sunk in, to be honest. I know it's been a few weeks now, but it still just feels like I talked to him yesterday, it's..." he doesn't finish._

_"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring this up. It just sort of slipped out," I apologize, feeling bad for forcing him to think about it._

_"No, it's okay. I mean," he swallows, "I don't want to just forget about him; he didn't deserve that. I want to remember him, even if it hurts. Maybe one day it won't," with that he forces me to think about my dad. Did I block out the thoughts of him when he died? I'm pretty sure I did, since I didn't exactly have the time to think about him at all, having to basically be a parent to my own mother while going to school – as ridiculous as that sounds._

_"Are you thinking about your dad?" He somehow reads my thoughts, completely catching me off guard with how he guessed or figured it out._

_"Yeah," I nod sadly, turning onto my side to face him, and he does the same. Some of the grass is in my face, and it's not the most comfortable surface to be lying on, but it beats being at school. Not to mention the fact that I'm starting to think I wouldn't really care where I was no matter what, as long as I was with Taylor._

_"We can miss them together, then," he suggests, making it sound more like a question, and I can't stop my lips from curling up in somewhat of a smile._

_"But you didn't even know my dad, and I hardly knew Kyle for a month," I argue._

_"I don't have to have known your dad to know that he was a good guy, given he was the parent of someone like you," I feel the blood rush to my cheeks at his comment. He notices and smirks._

_"How do you explain my mother, then? Why did_ I _have to be the tough one when he died? Why did she get to be at home drinking, while I was trying to bring home food at 14?" I say, sounding angrier than I had intended, but – having not talked to anyone about this, pretty much ever – it's hard to hold the emotion in. Don't get me wrong, I still care about my mother, I just think she should've been stronger then. I can tell she's trying to make up for it now, but it's too late._

_His fingers make their way in between mine, and we just lay there like that for a moment. "Just proves how much stronger than her you are, then."_

_"Do you ever wonder what the people you lost in your life would think if they looked at you now? Like, what would they say if they saw what you were doing, if they saw who you are now compared to the you they knew?" I don't really want to talk about my mother, since I'll just get mad._

_"I guess," he says, and looks away for a bit. "I think about my grandfather a lot when I play hockey, since he taught me everything I know about the game."_

_"He'd be thrilled if he saw you now," I say, as, although I haven't been to a game of his, I'm pretty sure he's the best one on our school's team, even though he's only a freshman._

_"Thanks," his smile reveals the white of his teeth, "your dad would be proud of you."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"'Cause I do," he says simply._

_"I'm not sure it works like that," I giggle at how sure of himself he is._

_"Well, I'm sure it does," Taylor answers, in a tone that tells me it's no use arguing with him._

_With his free hand, he reaches somewhere around my head, doing something with my hair. When he retracts his arm, I run my fingers along the spot his hand hovered above a few seconds ago, and find something in my hair. A flower. I smile at the small but meaningful gesture._

_"Thank you," my heart flutters when I realize what he did._

_"You, too."_

_"For what?" I can't really imagine anything I did that he should be thanking me for._

_"For making me feel better when I thought I couldn't," his eyes trail down to our intertwined hands and then back up to me. "That day when you came to my house and I told you about Kyle, I thought nothing could ease the pain, but you did. I don't know how, but being with you," he grins, "the world doesn't seem so bad."_

_When I go home that day, I don't take the light blue flower out of my hair until I have to go to sleep. I put it between two of the heaviest books I can find in my room, to make sure I can keep it longer than if I'd just leave it to wilt away, so that I can have something to remind myself of today. It was a good day._


	5. four

The next few weeks are a mess. Taylor keeps trying to talk to me, and I'm starting to regret ever giving him my number. I know he wants to see Justin, but I know him well enough to realize that the second I'd allow that, he'd use the opportunity to get me to talk to him.

So I don't allow him. After all, I'm not planning on letting him see the kid ever again – at least not until I figure this out. Also, they were somewhere together 3 times that week, so I think that's more than enough for even two months, given they didn't even know one another existed before that.

It takes a lot to convince myself that I'm doing the right thing. I am, right? I have to be. Because if this isn't the right thing, that means that letting him into my son's and my life would be, and I cannot afford to choose to believe he's here to stay this time and be wrong. Not again. So unless he somehow miraculously manages to convince me he's not leaving this time - which won't happen - there can't ever be a stable relationship between him and Justin. I don't know why I thought there could be. Or maybe I didn't, I was just trying to convince myself of it.

"You're doing it again," Jay points to my face while taking a swig out of his beer, before placing it on the bar again.

"I'm not doing anything," I answer

"Whatever you say," he chuckles. "Hey, I forgot to mention," he says out of nowhere, almost choking on the drink he didn't have the time to swallow before talking, making me look up at him, "guess who got the promotion?" He asks, as he raises his arms around himself.

I grin. "Jay, that's great," I say, genuinely happy for him. He works for the Portland P.D. and has been working his ass off to get promoted for the past two years.

"Thanks. I have to say, though, I thought I was getting fired until the chief told me what the actual reason he wanted to talk to me was." He puts on his frown and lowers his voice in a comical way, making him sound ridiculous, which I'm sure was the desired effect, since he's imitating his superior officer. "It's been a long time, Mr. Madsen, and I feel like this can't go on any longer," I start laughing at how stupid he sounds and looks while trying to mimic his boss.

"Did he actually say that?"

"Yeah, he was super serious, too; I swear I almost got a heart attack when he started talking. Enough about me, though, how've you been? I hardly ever got to see you this past month," he begins, and I already start coming up with excuses in my head as to why I haven't left my apartment at all except for going to work.

"Uh, I've just been busy. You know, raising a kid and all," I hate how the lies roll off my tongue, not even feeling strange anymore as I've gotten into the habit of lying to my friends.

"You've been raising him for a while now," he points out the hole in my excuse, one I for some reason didn't see. "I could push you to tell me the truth, and maybe I should, but I'll leave that to another time, not a Friday night."

I unconsciously give him a grateful smile, but at the same time spot someone from the corner of my eye, and in that very second I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. You have got to be kidding me. What the hell is he doing here?

I can hear Jay's voice from next to me, but it's muffled, as I'm too busy looking at the sight of a broad shouldered guy walking toward the bar – however, he doesn't seem to have noticed me yet. Does he not know I'm here? Maybe he really isn't stalking me, and he's just here because he wanted a drink. On the other hand, though, it's hard to believe that this is just a coincidence.

I quickly turn my head around, shielding the light color of my hair with my hands, but I doubt it'll do anything. He notices everything, and I do mean everything. If a picture frame in his house tilts one inch, he'll know about it. Nonetheless, I still try, hoping that maybe this time life won't be shitty to me.

"Are you even listening to me?" Jay asks, amused of all things.

"What?" My voice cracks a bit as I ask him that. He chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah, sorry, I get a bit distracted sometimes," I have to keep quiet so that Taylor doesn't recognize me by the sound of my voice. For all I know he's right next to me right now, waiting for me to turn around and most certainly enjoying the show, knowing him as well as I do. "You were saying?"

"Why are you quiet?" Not the question I wanted to hear.

"I'm feeling a bit sick; you think we could go outside for a bit?" I lie for the second time tonight, this time about my reasoning for wanting to leave the bar. Well, technically I'm not really lying.

"Yeah, sure," just as he says that, I hear a different male voice.

"I'll have what she's having." Great. He noticed me. Awesome.

I turn around slowly, cursing at everything I can think of in my head. He's there, his head leaning into his arm that's propped on the bar, a smile on his face. Of-fucking-course he's smiling. And it's not the 'I'm glad to see you' smile, it's the kind that tells me he's not happy about something, and he's just being sarcastic.

"Hi," Taylor says enthusiastically. He's drunk. I can tell by the way his eyes move around the room. He's usually completely focused on what he's doing, but right now he seems to have long moments of staring off into space. And Taylor drunk is never a good sign. Most people just act a bit funny and laugh a little too much, but he becomes the exact opposite of acting funny, instead of that he's mean and says things he normally wouldn't.

I quickly turn back around to face a confused Jay. "Could you give me a moment, please?" I beg him with my eyes. He frowns at me for a moment, but then nods. Right as he's about to leave, Taylor calls out from behind me.

"Wait, stay," he's not slurring his words a lot, so he's not that drunk, but being the big guy he is, he must've drank a bit to get himself like this. Most people probably wouldn't notice, but let's not forget that I spent a long time with him, so if there's one person I know well besides Justin, it's Taylor.

Confusion makes its way onto Jay's face as he looks Taylor over. _Please don't recognize him from TV,_ I pray in my head. "Do I know you?" He asks, and I feel just a tad bit lighter knowing that he at least won't ask me why this hockey player is hanging around me.

"No, I don't think you do," Taylor looks at me with accusation in his eyes. This is not good. He's uncontrollable when he gets like this, and I do I have to admit that I most likely haven't been the only one on an emotional rollercoaster these past few weeks. That, combined with alcohol and me fairly recently rejecting him, probably means that something bad is about to go down.

Taylor's hand goes to his glass that the bartender's just put in front of him, the same whiskey in it that I had ordered a while ago. He's about to raise it to his lips, but I put my hand onto his forearm, trying to stop him from getting more intoxicated than he already is. "Don't be a buzz kill, Hayles," he says, pouting at me, something he almost only ever did when he'd had something to drink.

"Taylor, you're drunk, I can tell," I argue with him, hoping his normal self will come back, even though I know it won't.

"I'm not drunk enough," he says, and despite my efforts, he drinks the glass in one gulp.

"Why have you been drinking?" The question slips past my lips. He never drinks unless he's really feeling like shit, since he's aware of the negative effect it has on him.

"I've had a bad day," he says with a hint of a smile, but it quickly fades as it's replaced by sadness, and then anger.

"What happened?" The irritation I feel towards him suddenly starts fading when I see he's genuinely in pain. The world around us starts becoming a blur as the memories of seeing him after he'd found out his brother died flood my mind. I've never seen him so broken, and I never want to again.

"I called Kevin and told him I was gonna take another season off, since, after all, it's what the doctors have been telling me to do this entire time. Needless to say, he wasn't happy," he looks away and motions towards the bartender for another drink. When he's poured another glass of whiskey, he downs it completely. "He said he'd drop me."

My heart stops right then and there. Taylor not playing hockey? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. "What?"

"Yup," his fingers turn to white as his grip on the now-empty glass tightens.

"Well, you can just get a different agent, can't you?" I say the first rational thing that comes to my mind. Taylor's good - really good. There has to be hundreds of agents waiting in line to get to work with him, so there's no way he wouldn't just be able to get a new one.

"Not after my injury, no. They thought I was gonna die, so pretty much nobody thinks I'm capable anymore, and the funniest thing is that they're most likely right," he starts laughing again, but it's not real. "I doubt I'd stand a chance in an actual game now." I shake my head. Yeah, right. It'd take a lot more than an injury for Taylor to not be a god at the game.

"Uh, Hayley?" I quickly spin around when I'm reminded Jay's still there. Damn, I completely forgot about him, and it seems Taylor did, too. "Want me to go?"

"No," Taylor waves his hands in the air towards him, "please stay." I can tell by the way he's talking that he's aware I know he's mad, and this is just him rubbing it in my face.

"I'm sorry, I don't know you," Jay says, slowly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, where are my manners?" Taylor chuckles as he's saying that. He gets off the bar chair, and with his hand held out, he approaches Jay, who reluctantly shakes it. "My name's Taylor. I'm Hayley's-" he makes a show of looking me right in the eyes, as if he's accusing me of something, " _friend_."

"Jay," the other guy answers, beyond confused.

Taylor nods his head in response. "Jay, here, was just leaving," I say, in an attempt to save the situation. I know Taylor's the one who I should be kicking out, since he's the one stirring trouble here, but I'm taking the easy way out of this.

My neighbor nods and starts slipping on his jacket, when Taylor speaks again. "Oh, please don't leave. I'd _love_ to talk to you, since you're a fellow friend of Hayley's."

The look Jay gets in his eyes tells me that my attempts at calming the situation weren't enough. "What's your problem?"

Taylor smiles a little bit. Of course this is what he wanted. I shouldn't be surprised, since at the end of the day, this isn't his first time taking his anger out by getting into fights. I'd found him at the back of some random club more than once after Justin died, with blood all over his fists, as well as his face.

"I have no problems whatsoever," he says, and makes an okay sign on one of his hands, "zero," he finishes, and the tension lingers for a moment.

"So what do you want from me?" Jay's quickly catching onto Taylor's manners, and he's losing the politeness, switching it out for annoyance as his patience runs out.

"To back off," Taylor announces, making the situation even worse than it was. I think it goes without saying that, since Jay's a police officer, he knows how to fight - not to even mention the sole fact that Taylor getting into a fight with him could get him into serious trouble.

"Back off from where?" Jay takes a few steps until he's close enough to Taylor so that they can see eye to eye.

"From her," Taylor answers, gritting his teeth and finally dropping the smile. I rack my brain for something to say, but I don't think there's anything I could tell either of them to stop the argument now. Nonetheless, I try to force my way into the space between the two of them - but this time it's Jay who just walks around me.

"Oh, yeah? How are you going to make me do that?" He steps even closer.

Taylor doesn't do anything for a second, and the hope that maybe he's going to stop sparks in me. But then it's gone, just as fast as it appeared. "How about this?" With that, Taylor's fist flies through the air until it connects with Jay's face.

I let out a shriek and immediately run to my friend's aid, who's crouching on the ground, collecting himself from the impact. It must've been a really hard punch if this is his reaction, considering he's someone who's had a lot of training in fighting, and such.

My gaze quickly turns to Taylor, the person who's to blame for all of this. "Are you out of your mind?" He just stares at me, a lost look in his eyes. I shake my head in disbelief that he'd do something like this - because he was what? Jealous?

Then he turns around and leaves. I'd go after him and make sure he knows just how seriously he fucked up, but I'm too busy helping Jay up from the ground. I guess he's changed more than I thought.

\------------

"Why have you been so weird lately?" Andy's voice brings me back, and I start washing the glasses I've collected.

"Weird, how?" I pretend not to know what she's talking about. It's getting close to the time we close up, so the diner is almost empty. With nobody sitting behind the bar, I don't have to worry about someone overhearing our conversation.

"Like, absent, always in your head," she clarifies and turns to me, giving me her full attention, since there's probably no work to be done at the moment, as all orders are either taken or we're waiting for the cook to finish the food up.

"I've just been tired," I answer, not completely lying. I have been tired – exhausted, actually. This thing with ignoring Taylor seems to be draining all of my energy, and I don't know what to do about it besides waiting and seeing what happens.

"Uh huh," Andy says, clearly not having eaten it up. I know the silence what follows is her giving me time to explain more, but I just keep scrubbing - probably way more than necessary - at the plate that I'm holding in the sink until I feel her move away from me.

"I think that's clean," an all too familiar voice echoes around me. I look up to see Taylor sitting at the bar in a black t-shirt, his elbows propped on the desk. "I'll have a sparkling water, if you don't mind," he grins at me like the arrogant ass he is.

I reach into the freezer below me and set a water bottle in front of him. "It's on me, now leave," my voice is flat, emotionless as I send him away. Suddenly the anger I somehow managed to suppress for Justin's sake is coming back with such force that I can't hide it anymore. I thought I could, and we'd be a happy family - or as happy and as much of a family as we could be - but there's no other way to put it than to say that I'm furious.

I have never been so angry in my life, and trust me when I say that other shitty things have happened to me - but I'm starting to think I'd almost be able to pay someone to punch him in the face, just so that I could watch.

I can hear the almost inaudible gasp behind me, which means Andy noticed him. Well, fuck. I guess it doesn't matter, anyway; she was eventually going to find out about him somehow, if I didn't stop working here. "Look, I came here to apologize."

I ignore him and go about my work as if he's not there. "I know I acted like an ass, but I was drunk, and you know how I get when I'm drunk. I didn't plan on seeing you that night; I had no idea you were in that bar. Not to mention the conversation I had with Kevin prior to that; I was just really mad, and seeing you with that guy... it just made me mad. I'm sorry," he finishes. I take a deep breath and turn to look at him.

"Okay," I say, no trace of emotion behind my voice.

"Well, do you forgive me? At least partially?"

I chuckle humorlessly. "No, Taylor, I don't. You punched my friend for no reason other than your drunkenly self not liking him, so it's going to take a bit more than that. Not to mention that this isn't your first apology. Maybe instead of showing up at my workplace to apologize, you could stop screwing up in the first place, and we could both avoid this," I raise my voice, not caring that my friend - who most certainly knows Taylor - is behind me right now, listening to our conversation.

"It's more than that, though, isn't it?" His face scrunches up a bit before he speaks in response to my previous comment.

"Can you please just go?" A bit of the fight leaves me.

"No, I'm not moving until you give me a good reason to," oh, never mind, it's back now.

I'm once again surprised at just how arrogant and annoyingly persistent he can be. "Fine," I say through gritted teeth, walking from behind the bar and grabbing his forearm, dragging him somewhere where we'll have privacy. When we're outside and far enough away to not be seen, I let go of him and cross my arms over my chest.

"Please tell me what's really going on. I know you better than you think, and I can tell when something's up," he's much calmer now, begging me with his eyes which I can see only thanks to the dim light of the streetlights, so I take a deep breath to prevent myself from yelling at him again.

"What happened is that you _attacked_ my friend," I explain, tired of repeating that piece of reality.

"But that's not why you've been so cold towards me, I can tell," he keeps on going at it. "You started it at the ice rink a few weeks ago and made up some lame excuse, but I can see though it, Hayley. You can't lie to me; you know that as well as I do. A long time might've gone by, but I haven't forgotten one thing about you."

"What's going on is that I recognized that you can't be trusted, not after what you did. And I can't allow myself to believe you again, in case you're just going to pack your things and go," his face is completely still when I say that to him. I'm starting to realize that I don't even have to pretend to be mad at him anymore in order for him to stay away. I am mad at him. No, I am _furious_. The anger's always been there, it just hadn't had the time to surface the first few times I saw him after so long.

"Okay, then tell me what you want me to do to prove to you that I'm not leaving. I swear to you, on my life, that I'll never leave that boy fatherless," he begs.

"But that's what you seem to be unable to grasp, Taylor. There _is_ nothing you can do to convince me," I let the emotions out with that sentence.

"I don't accept that. There has to be something I can do - something I can _say_ \- to convince you that I don't ever want to leave again, because I don't," I run a hand through my hair, wishing he would just give up already, because that'd most certainly help me. But at the end of the day, he was never one to do that.

"Okay, then," I begin, "tell me that you didn't break up with me over the phone. Tell me that you didn't cheat on me. Tell me that you didn't abandon your son and me both, and I'll believe you," I ask of him, knowing he can't do that. That's kind of the point. I don't know what else to tell him to make him stay away. Justin will question why he won't see Taylor anymore, but he'll get over it eventually; they haven't spent enough time together for him to depend on him like a father yet.

"There has to be something else I can do besides lying to you, Hayley," he tries to get a hold of my hands, but I shake him off.

"If you'd have to lie to me for you to be able to say those things, then maybe that's a sign that this is never going to work out," for the millionth time, the tears that are threatening to spill are a challenge I have too much experience overcoming.

"No, I don't accept that. I won't," he starts walking towards me, and I have to take steps backward to keep the distance between us. "We have a son together. You said it yourself, you can't keep me from him. I won't let that happen."

"Yes, I am aware of Justin, but he's only just met you, you can't expect to spend every day with him. I told you when you first showed up here; everything will be on my terms, and I decide when you get to see him and when you don't. You seem to have forgotten that awfully fast, and now you're overstepping the boundaries," my voice isn't that harsh anymore.

"Sorry, I- I-" he stutters. "I just don't know what to do. I mean, if it was just him, this would be so much easier," he trails off, and I frown. What's he talking about? Who else is there? If this is when he finally reveals to me that he's married or some shit, I swear I'll probably burn this place down.

"Who else is there?"

He looks at me surprised, as if he wasn't expecting me to ask him about it. "Did I say that out loud?" Well, it's good to know that I'm not the only one here going crazy. I nod in response, which gets a sigh out of him. He turns around for a second, but then quickly looks back at me. "I didn't go after you that time I saw you working here just for nothing, Hayley," his voice is suddenly serious as it drops at least an octave lower, way too low for me to stay calm.

"What?" I whisper, afraid to move for some reason.

"I didn't chase after you when I saw you here the first time just because I was curious," he keeps getting closer, making me back up until my body is pressed against the wall, leaving me with nowhere to escape to. Okay, that's not great.

"Just think about it," he gets even closer, and I'm overwhelmed with his scent, using all my willpower not to give into it. "This didn't happen randomly. Everything with the accident, I mean. The doctors told me countless times that I shouldn't have survived that; they have no idea how my head didn't crack into two, given my helmet was already half-broken when I hit the ice that night.

"I was supposed to die then, Hayley, but I didn't. I didn't die, because there were still a lot of things that I fucked up and that I needed to make right, starting with you. I spent so many sleepless nights wondering what had kept me alive - I didn't have anything to go back to. But then, seeing you again - it all started making sense, even more so when I found out about Justin.

"Not one day has gone by that I haven't regretted what I've done. Not a single day did I not think about you and how much I wanted to see you. You're the reason I'm breathing right now, and if you think I'll give up that easily, you're wrong."

"If you wanted to see me so much, why didn't you?" I interrupt him, spitting the words, having heard way more than I wanted. How dare he say those things to me after what happened?

"When I finally thought I could, it was too late. I knew you'd hate me if you saw me, and hearing you say that you hate me would break me, I- I don't want to know what I would've been capable of doing," his body presses against mine, and for the tiniest, shortest second, my instincts take over my brain, and I lean into him, having craved that touch for over 5 years.

When the reality of the situation finally travels to my head, I put my hand on his chest, pushing him away - but he hardly moves. "Please," he whispers, and my breathing goes rapid. Everything in me is screaming to get away from him, but in that moment I can't. I feel like I'm paralyzed. His head starts lowering, and my heart might as well fall out of my chest from how fast it's beating, since I know what's about to happen next. He's so close that I can feel his lips hovering above mine, but not quite touching.

Out of nowhere, my senses kick in, and I push him away, slipping from the wall. Once I catch my breath, I speak. "Well, you were right about it being too late now. Way too late. Not to mention the fact that I, no matter how much I try, just can't find it in me to forgive you, Taylor. There's too much damage that's been done, and I can't get over it. I can't ever trust you the way I did before. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever."

"Please just tell me what I'm supposed to do, and I'll do it, anything," he takes a moment before answering, and then reaches for my hands again. I retract them like I did before, this time having the willpower to refuse him without a second thought.

"How many times do you need to hear that there is nothing you can do?" I ask, defeated. I find myself wondering how it's possible to go from being completely, utterly in love with someone, to being in this wreck of a relationship with them.

"I don't believe that," his pose goes rigid with denial. "I can't accept that there's absolutely nothing I could ever do to make your opinion of me at least a little better, unless you tell me why."

"You want to know why?" I raise my voice. "Because when you love someone – and I mean _really_ love them – you fight for them. You fight hard and dirty, no matter the cost to yourself. And not once have you fought for me; not the way you should."  
  
  
  


_8 years ago_

_I don't think I've ever seen Taylor nervous until the past few days. He's always the overly calm, rational guy - which sometimes infuriated me - but ever since this Monday, he's done nothing but tap his foot at a rapid pace all the time in class, or sweating way more than he should, given fall in Nashville isn't exactly warm._

_"Will you calm down?" I jab his shin with my foot under the table during our labs._

_"What do you mean?" He questions._

_"Stop thinking about the game this weekend and focus on the task at hand, please. I'm not really interested in failing this class," I comment, getting a bit fed up with his inability to focus on anything else._

_"I'm not thinking about it," he defends himself. I cock my head to the side and look at him, a bored expression on my face. "Okay, well, maybe I am. But can you blame me? It's going to be huge; there's gonna be scouts for colleges. Obviously they're not going to offer me a scholarship, since I'm only a freshman, but it's really important to get your name out there."_

_"Okay, but how will acting like you have ADHD the entire week help you do any better?"_

_"I'm just nervous, Hayley. Nothing much you or me can do about that," he says, with a hint of laughter behind his voice, a little of the tension leaving his body at my question._

_"Mr. York, I suggest you focus on your work rather than discussing whatever you're discussing with Ms. Williams, since I doubt it has anything to do with biology," the professor says, glaring at us like we'd just killed his dog. Someone's in a bad mood._

_"Sorry," Taylor answers, his face expressionless. He begins scribbling something down into his notes, so I start doing the same._

_Another second passes before he speaks again. "You'll be there, right?" He asks me, and I look up from my notebook frowning, not knowing what his question is about. "The game, I mean."_

_Oh, that's what he's talking about. I've been looking forward to seeing him play ever since I found out he's on the hockey team, so I'm definitely planning on going. Not to mention that it's one of my duties, now that we're good friends. "Wouldn't miss it," I answer, smiling as a grin spreads across his face._

_When I get home the day of the game, I find my mother in the kitchen. Now, that's strange. She doesn't even know how to make herself tea, much less cook an actual meal, which it looks like she's attempting._

_"Hayley," she breathes out with relief, like I just saved her life, "thank God you're here, I need your help," she says, and all I can do is roll my eyes._

_"With what?" I try not to laugh at the way she's standing: flour all over her clothes, balancing about ten different things in her arms. So I walk over to her and help her put the stuff on the counter._

_"My new boyfriend is coming over tonight, I need your help to cook this damn dinner," she says, putting one of her flour covered hands on her hip, spreading the white powder onto her jeans as well. Oh, right, that guy she's mentioned a few times. My pulse starts rising at the announcement. Taylor's game starts at 6, which is in half an hour. I was just planning on going home, grabbing my things, taking a shower, and heading back to school where it's happening._

_"Mom, I don't really have time tonight," I argue as innocently as possible, but it comes out more desperately._

_Her brows furrow as she looks me straight in the eyes. "Well, too bad," she says, emotionlessly. "This is important to me, he is important to me, so you're staying home," her tone suggests it's going to be really hard to make her change her mind, but nonetheless I fight back._

_"You don't understand; this is really important. My friend has a hockey game, they're playing to get to the state championship. It's huge," I argue, not accepting missing Taylor's match as an option._

_"Hayley, I'm sorry, but you can't go out today-"_

_"Mom! This is the one time I'm asking you for something in my life. Please, I_ have to _go," I tug at my hair, pulling it out of my head in frustration._

_"I already said no. You're not even 16 yet, you don't get to make the rules. You're staying here." I storm out of the kitchen at her words, feeling nothing but fury._

_I know it's no use trying to make her change her mind when she gets like this. I'm this close to going back there and shouting at her for treating me like this when she had no problem letting me spend the night somewhere outside when I was 14, because she was at home getting high, but I don't do it. As much as I want to hate her for all of it, I can't._

_So instead I go to my room to text Taylor that I'm not coming, but realize I left my phone at school. Well, that's just great. He's going to be so confused when I don't show up, and the idea of me being the reason he won't be on his A-game for such an important match makes me fill with sadness and anger._

_I keep glancing at the clock the entire time throughout the dinner. I already forgot the guy's name, and it hasn't even been an hour since he's introduced himself to me. The first time my mom got a new boyfriend after dad died, I didn't really know how to feel, since until then, I hadn't seen her with anyone except for dad, but since then I think I've stopped caring. It's a bit after 7, so they're probably finishing up the second period. When I'm done eating, I carry my plate to the kitchen and excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I glance at myself in the mirror and can't make my thoughts go away from Taylor, which is when I get the idea and the courage I needed._

_I slip upstairs unnoticed, but have to hurry so that me being gone so long doesn't get suspicious, until I'm safely out of the house. I grab a hoodie that's laying on my bed, pulling it over my head and smoothing my hair down a bit before going to the window right above my desk. I open it carefully, doing my best not to make a sound._

_When I successfully let the cold air in, I come across an obstacle I haven't exactly thought about. My room's window is about 15 feet above the ground, and there's pretty much nothing to hold onto except for the windowsill._

_Guess I'll just have to wing it._

_I get through the hole feet first, followed by the upper half of my body. When I'm far out enough, I hold onto the ledge for dear life as my feet are dangling down towards the ground. That's actually pretty high above the grass, a lot more than I was expecting. I can't back out now, though, so I search for anything to land on, but fail to find something._

_I take a deep breath, letting go and shutting my eyes as I brace myself for the pain. Sure enough, a sharp stinging feeling spreads through my ankle. I suck in the air as I wince and try not to make a sound, which would definitely give me away. Pushing through the pain, I get up and start towards the school, that's - to my luck, surprisingly - pretty close._

_I limp through the lit up streets until I reach the gate to my high school. I can hear people cheering in the stadium all the way from here. I hope I'm not too late. By the time I get there, though, my leg is throbbing. Attempting to step on it is like putting your foot onto a knife._

_There's people all over the school grounds with red cups in their hands, chatting and laughing together. I go as fast as possible, not wanting to miss another second, when I hear the horns announcing the end of a period - or the end of the game, I can't tell. My heart beats even faster at the sound, and I pray it's not over yet. After all it's taken me to get here, it would be pretty shitty for all of it to be for nothing._

_I see the players getting out of the building and walking towards the changing rooms. First goes the team in white uniforms, the away team. I watch them pass with zero interest, waiting for the orange shirts to start coming through. Another few white-clothed guys emerge from the stadium before I start seeing my own school's attire._

_I look each one up and down, making sure to get to Taylor the second I see him. The last player walks through, and at this point my heart's in my throat. The only reason for him not being with his team would be that he must've hurt himself. There's no way he wasn't playing tonight, and every one of them leaves the ice when the period ends._

_I start panicking and look around, already making a map in my head as to how I'm going to find him, when I hear the familiar voice. I watch him go through the small door made for the players, his back to me as he's replying to someone. When he turns around and we make eye contact, the grin I love so much spreads across his face, as wide as ever._

_"You made it," he says, holding his stick in one hand and his helmet in the other. His hair is a tangled mess from it, but it doesn't make him look any less amazing._

_I breathe out heavily and run to hug him, hanging myself onto his neck. Somehow, in that moment, my foot doesn't hurt one bit. After convincing myself that something had happened to him, seeing him standing there completely fine - combined with the fact that I'm pretty sure my ankle is broken, or at least sprained - has me in all sorts of emotions._

_"Whoa," he says, laughing at my happiness to see him, but still returning the hug. I know he's covered in sweat, but right now I couldn't care less._

_"I'm so sorry I wasn't here earlier, my mom made me stay home and meet her new boyfriend," I mumble into his shoulder pads that make his chest seem twice the size it actually is._

_His hand rubs my back softly. "It's fine, I'm just glad you're here." I pull away, and - still momentarily unaware of the ankle situation - I try to put my weight onto it, which forces me to retract the movement immediately and wince, although I do my best to hide it for Taylor's sake._

_He frowns and takes a better look at the way I'm standing, which is an obvious giveaway as to what's going on, since I'm pretty much balancing on one foot. "Are you hurt?" His tone changes in a matter of milliseconds, the moment he notices something's wrong._

_I shake my head, trying to make it seem like it's no big deal, but I'm not sure he's buying it. "It's nothing, I just stepped bad on the concrete. I'm fine."_

_"Did you get it checked out yet?"_

_"No, I was kind of in a hurry, but please don't worry about it. You need to focus on hockey right now."_

_"Hayley, you do realize I'll never put my hobbies above the health of someone I care about, right?" He's stern in tone, and yet his statement makes my heart flutter. He cares about me._

_"I'm fine, I promise," I lie. "Did the game just end?" My voice is full of fear as I ask the question I managed to forget about for the few seconds I was convincing him about my leg being okay._

_"No, only the second period," he finally gives up fighting me, and a rush of relief goes through me at the realization that I didn't do all of this for nothing._

_"What's the score?" I question, and his eyes dart away immediately after I ask it. Oh no, that can't be good._

_"4 to 0," he says, and scratches the back of his head, "for them."_

_"Oh," I mouth. The chances of them turning that around are slim to none. They'd have to score 4 times during the next 20 minutes to at least tie and force overtime, not to mention that they would have to prevent the other team getting a good shot._

_"Yeah, I've had a pretty shitty game so far. I don't know why, but I just can't get into it today. And when I didn't see you in the crowd..." he trails off, and I kick myself even more for not being here when I told him I'd be._

_"Is there anything I can do?" I'm already trying to come up with ways to make it up to him, but I'm pretty sure it's too late for that now, since they're probably going to lose the game._

_"No, just-" he looks at his feet and then back at me, "it's enough that you're here."_

_"Okay," I give him the best smile I can get out of myself right now, without wincing at my ankle._

_"Hey, I'm sorry, but I gotta go. Coach will kill me if he's coming up with strategies and I'm not listening. If I don't get benched, that is," he says, an apologetic look in his eyes._

_"Alright," I answer, and he starts walking away, but in that very moment something in me won't budge. "Hey, Taylor," he turns around, a question in his eyes as to why I'm stopping him, "Come here," I request, and he does just that, the blades of his skates making muffled noises as he walks, since they're covered in a thin piece of black plastic to protect them from getting dull. I would be the one to come to him, but given the state of my leg, I don't want to take the risk._

_"What is it?" He asks, and I take a deep breath, knowing what I'm about to do might be a terrible idea. I reach my hand out and place it behind his head, touching his wet hair and running my fingers through it. He frowns a little, probably wondering just what I'm doing, but what he doesn't know is that I don't have a clue myself._

_I lean on the tiptoes of my healthy foot, but I already know it's not going to be enough, since he's a lot taller than me even without the skates that add him another inch or two. So I pull at his neck, making him lower his head. He immediately gets the hint, and another second later, our faces are so close that I can feel his breath tickling me._

_I look at him, and to my surprise, find his expression to be very similar to mine, but without the nervousness. Closing my eyes, I decide to go for it, pressing the lightest kiss onto his lips that I can, being careful - and also because of the fact that it's kind of hard to reach him. He stays still, and I expect him to pull away, but instead his mouth covers mine again, its touch a lot more urgent this time than mine had been before._

_I hear his stick fall to the floor, and then his hand is in my hair, directing my head towards his so that he can get better access. I really hope my inexperience isn't showing, since this is my first time kissing anyone, but damn, does it feel good. I've always been a bit scared of what it'd be like, but this is beyond anything I was expecting, and I don't know if it's because it's with Taylor or because I haven't kissed anyone else yet, but in this moment, that doesn't matter one bit._

_He tilts my head, and the next thing I feel is his tongue tracing my lips. Not really knowing what I'm doing, I open up. As soon as he enters, it draws a moan out of me, something that catches me by surprise, and I immediately want to feel embarrassed, but I only feel him smile into the kiss a bit._

_We spend what could be forever and one second at the same time like that until he pulls away, his eyes remaining closed. "Damn," he says, and finally looks down at me. "I already know I won't be able to get that out of my head any time soon," he grins at me, and I offer him a weak smile, since I'm still catching my breath._

_"You feel like you can win the game now?" I draw a few ragged breaths while talking._

_"I feel like I could do anything," he grins again as he takes a short step towards the changing room, and I expect him to leave, but he quickly turns back, catching me off guard as he leans for another kiss - a more drawn out one this time. I, on the other hand, start laughing for some reason, and he pulls away, doing the same thing._

_"Go," I say, not exactly sure what to say next, and not wanting him to miss more of what his coach wants his team to hear._

_He nods, the widest smile on his lips. "Don't you think you're getting away from me now, Williams. You're mine now," he finishes, and runs off into the changing room without saying anything else._

_I'm left standing there alone, and I use the time when nobody's looking to have a freak out moment by myself. Yup, I finally officially admitted to myself that I like Taylor York. It feels like a breath of fresh air after all the denying and not wanting myself to get attached; all of that was suffocating me. I'm taking my doubts and safely putting them away for them to hopefully never come back. I limp to the stadium and take one of the few seats that's free._

_Another ten minutes pass and it's the end of the break, so the players start making their way onto the ice again. I search for Taylor's jersey, hoping he wasn't benched, and clap when I see his jersey with the number 15 circling around, preparing for the last period to start._

_They waste no time messing around, as it's only a few seconds before all of them are in their positions, Taylor being the one preparing for a face-off. The other guy's standing a few feet in front of him, both of their heads facing the ice, but I can see Taylor's a lot calmer than his opponent. He doesn't move a muscle until the very moment the referee lets go of the puck._

_He wins the face-off with zero difficulty and starts flying across the ice. Not having seen him playing before, I'm amazed at how smooth his movements are - he seems more at home there than on the ground._

_Taylor gets the puck and starts for the enemy goal. He's going against two players and tricks them by motioning that he's passing to his teammate, and when they turn to attack that player, he sprints past them, now going against the goalie alone. I'm on the edge of my seat when he takes the shot. It's not a complicated one, just a simple shot into the top right corner._

_Lights start flickering around the whole stadium as everyone starts cheering. He scored. The volume of people's yells and clapping are overwhelming. Since this is our school's stadium, the amount of fans that are cheering for the Nashville high school is a lot bigger than for the away team, not to mention nobody was expecting a comeback._

_Taylor holds his stick in one hand, his other one in a fist at his side, as he bumps into his teammates who all share his happiness, skating around the rink. The second I notice he made the shot I shoot up from my seat, not ever being bothered by my ankle. He circles the ice, looking at the bleachers, seemingly scanning the people until his eyes land on mine. When he sees me, he grins the way he does when he thinks he said something funny and winks at me._

_The rest of the match, Taylor's everywhere. He scores another time and assists his team's third goal, but that still means they need another point to at least force overtime, and there isn't much time left to do that. The seconds are ruthlessly ticking by, and the other team seems to have woken up like ours did, so they're not letting us get an opportunity._

_Our coach takes a timeout when there's 2 minutes left on the clock, and when we're not able to score, the goalie is called off and another player sprints the ice instead of him, so that we have 6 guys trying to score. Taylor wins the face off again, but his teammate loses the puck in a fight at the boards, and the guy sends it in our empty goal's direction. Thanks to I don't even know who anymore, he misses it by one inch._

_With 30 seconds till the end of the third period, our team desperately tries to score. As Taylor's about to take the shot that would've been the one they needed to grant overtime, the loud horns can be heard throughout the entire stadium. The time's run out. I watch his expression mirror my own. He can't believe it either. I can't imagine what it must be like for him to have given his everything for the past 20 minutes, only to lose by one second._

_Sometime later, I'm waiting for him to get out of the changing room to walk home with him. I haven't even thought about what I'm going to say to my mother. She's going to be furious, there's no doubt about that. I at least hope that that guy of hers is gone by now, since I've been gone for over an hour, but she'll be right there, waiting for me to get home. I guess I'll have to face that problem when I get to it._

_Taylor opens the door of their locker room as one of the first ones to come out, his hair wet from the shower he'd probably just taken, carrying a huge black duffle bag on the shoulder of the same arm that's holding his stick. When he notices me leaning on the wall, I don't see what I thought I would. He looks happy. Not angry or sad that they just lost the qualifiers to the state championship, but happy._

_"Why are you smiling?" I ask, more than confused._

_He chuckles before speaking. "Because I'm looking at you," he answers, and I have the urge to cringe at his cheesiness and blush at the same time. Not to say I forgot about the kiss, but I wasn't really expecting him to start the whole couple stuff until later - if we even are dating, that is._

_"I'm sorry you lost, you were amazing out there," I say, but can't really move from the position I'm in, since the wall's helping me keep pressure off the ankle that feels like it's twice the size it was just an hour and a half ago._

_"It's just a game. Granted, it's one I take very seriously, but it's not the end of the world if we lose from time to time. And I still have a lot of time before I have to worry about impressing the scouts, so that I get a shot at college hockey. Besides," he walks towards me until he's close enough that I can feel the heat from his body, that's only amplified by the fact that he just spent the entire afternoon basically working out, "I can celebrate an entirely different thing today."_

_His free hand graces the side of my face as I let out a ragged breath, not used to the sparks his touch sends through me. "Yeah? And what is that?"_

_"The fact that you finally admitted to yourself, as well as to me, that you don't hate me as much as you try to convince everyone you do."_

_"Oh, please. I did that just so you'd play better," I joke, but my breath hitches in my throat when his thumb runs over my lip._

_"We'll see about that."_


	6. five

The no-Taylor rule failed miserably with Justin, not to anyone's surprise. I had hoped that he'd let it go, but after him begging me time and time again to let him spend time with his father, I had to succumb. So, Justin's spending the evening with Taylor today, which means that, for the first time ever, my son has free time and he's not spending it with me. Now, I'm not saying I mind the break, not in the slightest; but I still don't know if I made the right decision, letting that happen. It's been almost a month since our argument and the whole incident with Jay, and to be fair, I have to say that he's been acting... well, the way he should. Doesn't change the past, though.

The part of me that has a brain is quite strongly letting me know that, no, it wasn't the right decision, and I shouldn't let Taylor even walk across my doorstep after what he did. But it's hard. God, it's hard to even be around him without this buzz of emotions that are doing their best for me to let them surface.

And after all, he did put his hockey career - by now, pretty much the only thing he cares about - on hold because of me and his son, so I have to give him the benefit of the doubt at least a little bit. I'm just trying to give this time, since that's apparently the ultimate healing tool. But after the talk Taylor and I had outside of the diner, it's hard to even look at him, and I'm not even entirely sure what to take from it, since I tried to block the things he said out of my memory as much as possible to prevent myself from thinking about it. Still, it's so strange to act so formal with him.

Justin, of course, isn't making anything even remotely easier, by time and time again asking about his father, whose actual identity he's still not even aware of. He practically turned his bedroom upside down from joy when I told him about this evening, which makes trying to keep the two apart that much harder.

Nothing's changed, though. I'm letting the two of them spend time together; my mind was made up about that the second I saw the look that spread across Taylor's face when he found out about Justin's existence. But as far as him and I are concerned, we're just two people who used to know each other, and that's as far as I'm ever letting it go. Maybe we'll be friends one day, but even that might be a stretch.

I open the door to my apartment, expecting the UPS guy, but instead I'm practically floored when I'm met with my mother's face.

"Hayley," she says my name and immediately hugs me. I don't quite embrace her back, though.

What the hell is she doing here? She's supposed to be in rehab, right? "Mom," I say, breathlessly, "what are you doing here? How even are you here?" I don't hold back the sheer shock of seeing her.

"Well, I came here to see you and Justin, what else would I be doing here?" She answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world and lets herself in, so I just follow her through the apartment.

"I mean, why are you not in rehab? Are you clean now?" I ask, having serious doubts that she is, and even if I'm wrong on that, I know it won't last, since she's been down that road too many times.

"Well, I'm not sure if you've been informed, but they don't keep you there your entire life," she's not fazed by the directness of my questions. "And, yes, I'm clean."

"Wonder where I've heard that before," I mumble, pointing to the fact that this by far isn't the first time I've heard those words pass her lips.

"Well, where is he?" She ignores my comment, but I can see it by the way her expression changes just a little bit that she heard it.

"Who?"

"My grandson, of course," she says as she places her bag on the bar and takes a seat.

Well, shit.

I walk over to the other side of the bar and place my hands on the kitchen counter, supporting my body weight. My mom and Taylor never got along, from the moment they met. He could try to be as nice and polite as he could, but she'd always just scoff at him and mumble some insult directed towards him under her breath. Not to mention that this was also during and after the time she started spiraling again and I had to go live with his family since she was going to be away, so I don't need to point out that the protective side of my then boyfriend hated her guts for not taking care of me the way she should've been.

And the amount of, "I told you so's" after everything with the cheating and him breaking up with me had gone down was more than I wanted to handle. So if they see each other here, if she sees him with Justin, my guess is that all hell will break loose.

Avoiding her gaze, I turn around me to check the time. Yup, I'm fucked. They're supposed to be back in 10 minutes. "He's with a friend of mine," I say, unable to come up with anything else that wouldn't make me sound even more like a terrible parent and also wouldn't include Taylor's name.

"The Ashley girl?" She asks, and I quickly start nodding. She's watched him countless times, so her saying that is beyond convenient. "When is he going to be home?" Her question catches me off guard, as I'm already thinking of a way to get to avoid seeing Taylor.

"I don't know," I sort of mumble as I'm taking out my phone, deciding that the easiest way to fix this is to just text him to do something so that he avoids her. I almost type out for him to leave the kid with Jay, but, remembering the reason my friend's face has a blue, now almost green, bruise on it, I decide against it.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Her tone's accusing, as if she's angry at me for not knowing where he is, which I do. Nonetheless, I save the comment about still being a better mother than her.

"I meant to say I do," I blurt out, "he should be back in, like, 10 minutes."

I check my phone for Taylor's reply, but there's nothing. Sighing, I slip my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. Not more than 5 minutes of meaningless small talk between my mother and I pass by and, for the second time today, someone knocks on the door.

"Stay here," I immediately say, my voice unnecessarily harsh to make sure she doesn't question me. I let out a huge breath of relief when I realize she's not following me, and I prepare to pretty much kick Taylor out as soon as I see him when I open the door.

Confusion etches over my face when there's nobody there. Was I hearing things? Then, out of nowhere, I hear the screaming of two people, one a high pitched yell and the other a much deeper sound. I shield my face away from them as something starts hitting me. It's not quite painful, but most certainly annoying. When I finally get the chance to take a look at who just lost their minds at my doorstep, the urge I feel to face palm myself is so strong that I don't remember the last time I wanted to do something so badly.

Nerf guns. They have Nerf guns, and they're having the time of their life shooting those tiny foam bullets at me. I back up into the apartment as their attempts at... achieving whatever they're trying to achieve get more intense, but can't resist smiling when I see Justin's face laughing with his dad, who's undeniably the source of this idea to 'attack' me.

I'm forced to retreat to the living room, and now I'm laughing, too, as Justin's war cries echo through the space.

"Now!" The kid shouts, seemingly at his father, whom I lost sight of, but it's not long before I'm reminded of his presence. Taylor's huge arm locks around my body, making it impossible for me to move, with his other hand holding the Nerf gun that's pointed to my head as deep chuckles resonate through his chest.

Justin jumps on the couch and starts firing at me like it's the last thing he'll ever do, and I try to wiggle out of his father's grip on me, but it's no use. I can't stop the giggles from escaping my mouth as the kid seems to be having the time of his life. In that very moment, even the issues between Taylor and I aren't bothering me; frankly, it's just the three of us acting a bit too much like a family for the skeptical side of me to believe it. Just as I'm thinking that, someone clears their throat, and all of us turn our heads in the direction it came from.

Oh.

I completely forgot about her being here. If the daggers she's shooting at both Taylor and me with her eyes were real, we'd both be long gone. The smile quickly disappears off his face at the sight of her.

"Grandma?" Justin asks in confusion as he's staring at her with his little eyes squinted. He might as well be. I'm surprised he even remembers her, since he was hardly 2 when he saw her the last time before this.

Ignoring Taylor and I, she walks over to him and hugs him while saying her greetings to him. He's a little stiff, but embraces her back, and when she's done talking to him, she turns to the two of us. Under normal circumstances, Taylor and I would be enemies, but when facing the wrath of my mother, we find comfort in each other.

"Hello, Taylor," she says, venom lacing her voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Not like this, at least," she looks at me, and just then do I realize that Taylor's still holding me by my bare stomach, as me struggling out of his grip lifted my t-shirt up, not to mention the fact that he's way too close for someone who I'm supposed to be avoiding.

He quickly lets go of me, and I soothe down my tshirt over my body as my mother glares at me, a gaze that used to intimidate me when I was kid, since it's her telling me she's mad at me, but her anger stopped being something intimidating a long time ago.

"Hey, Ms. Williams," his tone, on the other hand, is neutral.

"What a surprise, seeing you after all this time," she says, and shoots me a look. "I've learned to expect a lot from you, Hayley, but somehow you always manage to surprise me," her gaze burns through my head and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"I just realized I have something to take care of," Taylor says, clearly coming up with an excuse to leave. I don't blame him; if I could leave, I would, not to mention that him staying here is probably just going to stir up more trouble. "I should get going," Justin whines when he announces he's leaving.

"But, why?" The kid asks, not wanting the only other male in this apartment to leave, at which my mother's face scrunches up in disgust.

"I promised my friend I'd meet him in 20 minutes, so I gotta go, sorry," Taylor replies, and ruffles his hair. "I'll see you later," he says to Justin. Then he flashes me a grin while saying his goodbye, and the next thing I hear is my front door shutting.

"You have got to be out of your mind," my mother says the next day, sipping her coffee as if I really did lose my mind. Maybe I did. "I cannot believe you let him back into your life."

I have been mentally preparing myself for this discussion the entirety of yesterday. Luckily for me, she left not that long after the Nerf gun incident, which I have yet to yell at Taylor for, since Justin had baseball practice. "I didn't," I say sternly, knowing that that most certainly won't shut her up.

"How do you explain what happened yesterday, then? Taylor spent the evening with him, right?" I nod. "Well, then, don't tell me he's not in your life again. Are the two of you together again?"

I almost spit my drink out onto the table at her question, half choking on it. "Of course not," I answer, perhaps more defensively than I should've, since the look she gives me doesn't exactly scream that she's convinced. "Taylor and I getting back together is not happening. Like, ever. I don't know what his opinion on that is, and frankly I don't want to ask him, but he really cares about Justin, I can see that. I wouldn't even let him near the kid if I didn't think so."

She scoffs. "We've learned a long time ago that what you think about him and what's actually going on in his mind are two very different things, didn't we?"

My fists ball up under the table as she talks about what happened 5 years ago, using 'we' as if she did something then. She didn't do shit. "He's not a good pretender, mother. You wouldn't know, since you didn't spend every day of a few years with him, but he can't fake his feelings."

"Is that how you two dated the entirety of high school, plus a year of college, only for him to then cheat on you and break up with you over the phone?" She asks, as if she's enjoying the fact that she thinks she got me with that argument.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down and prevent myself from either getting mad or just walking away, since this conversation is the last thing I want to be having right now. "Even after everything that's happened, I'd still like to think I know him a lot better than you do. So, thank you for your opinions about my son and my ex, I'll make sure to take it into consideration," I answer, the sarcasm loud and clear in my voice.

"As his grandmother, I don't want Taylor to be in his life," her voice is suddenly defensive, letting me know that we're really doing this.

"As his grandmother, you can say that, but it's not your decision to make. He's my kid, and so far the only thing Taylor has brought into his life is happiness, so I'm not taking that away from him. Believe me when I tell you I've thought a lot about this, and he seems as serious about wanting to be a parent to him as he gets. He's not even playing hockey this season at all, or at least until things sort out somehow," I state, hoping that with that this argument is over.

She stares at me from across the table, her face unreadable. I know she wants to say something, but somehow she doesn't. Instead she changes the subject. "I wanted to talk to you about something else, too, when I came here."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up with the way she says that, since it's her guilty tone, and that pretty much always indicates catastrophes. "And what would that be?"

"Look, I know what you're going to say, but it's really different this time," she talks fast, as if afraid I'm going to interrupt her at any moment, and she won't get the chance to finish whatever she wants to say.

I frown. "What are you talking about?" I question when she doesn't continue her explanation.

"Garrett and I are back together."

"You're what?" I almost shout. She opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it. "You can't be serious, right? Did you forget about what he did?"

"I didn't forget, Hayley. I forgave."

"How can you forgive him?" I fail to hold back the sheer shock this time, and a few heads turn in our direction at the volume of my voice, which makes her beyond uncomfortable.

"Calm down," she says through gritted teeth. If there's one thing that matters to her, it's what other people think of her.

"You do realize how hypocritical you're being right now, right?" My blood starts boiling at how much shit she was giving me for what's happening with Taylor, while knowing who she's letting back into her life. "You lecture me about how terrible of a person Taylor is, while you're getting back together with Garrett? Taylor is a lot of things, but he would never, and I mean _never_ , even dream about laying a hand on me."

"He's changed," she argues.

"Like hell he has," I close my eyes and slowly breathe in and out. "It's your life, mother, but if you think I'm letting him anywhere near Justin or me, you're dead wrong. And if that's not convincing enough for you, I'll make sure Taylor knows. Something tells me the two of them won't exactly get along, given their one and only encounter didn't go so well."

After that, I leave. I've had more than enough bullshit for today, not to mention I'll have to see Taylor today, since he's got Justin again. I was going to find him a different company, but this coffee date was already insufferable enough, and I wasn't going to drag Justin along for the ride, too. And since Ashley bailed yet again, the father was the only option.

Right now, though, the thought of seeing him doesn't seem all that bad at all, since we have a common enemy. He also hasn't brought up the conversation we had outside the diner the other day at all, so things might even be looking a little better between the two of us now, which is not something I thought I'd say in a long time.

"I'm sorry, but I just have to bring it up," Andy says in a rush as it's nearing the end of my shift.

"Okay," I lead her on.

"That guy who came here a few days back," she stops, seemingly looking for the right words to say. "That was Taylor York, right? The hockey player we talked about."

"Yup."

"You forgot to mention that you know him," she points out, suspicion in her voice.

"That's because I didn't. I mean, I did, but then I found out I might as well not have, and then he literally showed up out of nowhere, and to say I wasn't glad to see him is an understatement, but-" I stop myself when I realize I'm rambling. "It's complicated. Like, really complicated. There's a lot of history," I offer a half ass explanation, hoping she'll take it and let it go.

"Is he Justin's dad?" She asks, out of the blue. So much for letting it go.

I stare at her, blinking a few times. "What?" It's one thing for my best friend and my mother to know about that relation, but it's another for her to know it.

"Come on," she says, cocking her head to the side, "it's not like that's hard to figure out, especially since I've seen what your kid looks like. They're practically identical."

I let out a heavy exhale. "They do look alike," I agree, simultaneously admitting that her assumption is correct

"Oh my god, so I'm right!" She exclaims, like I'd just told her she won the lottery.

"You can't tell anyone," I lower my voice to make sure she knows just how serious I'm being.

"Yeah, I got that. But how come you never told me?"

"Because I didn't think I'd ever see him again," she frowns in confusion. "Look, it's a long story, and it doesn't have a happy ending. It's not really worth telling," just as I finish the sentence, I spot _him_ leaning onto his car, watching me from outside. Yesterday I told him to wait for me here after he dropped Justin off at baseball practice.

"I have to go," I announce, checking the clock to ensure I'm not leaving early, and thankfully it's 5 minutes after the end of my shift.

"But Hayley," she whines, clearly not happy with the amount of information I provided.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, as I'm walking through the door with my back to her. The last thing I need right now is to talk about my shitty past right before I meet with the person who is the reason it's so shitty.

"I gotta talk to you," I say as I run a hand through my hair when he's close enough.

"This is about your mom, right?" He asks as we get into his car, but he doesn't start the engine.

"Of course it is," I sigh, looking for a way to tell him about Garrett. "Well, first I have to say that I had no idea she was coming."

"I figured," he answers with a grin. He always has enjoyed seeing me frustrated.

"She showed up at my door ten minutes before you guys came. I was gonna hide you being there, but-" I recall how the two of them ran into the living room shooting at me, "that wasn't exactly possible."

"Oh yeah, sorry for that, he just really wanted to use them and I thought..." he trails off.

"Yeah, what _did_ you think?" It just now occurs to me that I haven't addressed the mess he made with my mother with one of his stupid ideas.

"I thought he'd have fun," he answers simply, even though I'm pretty sure he's aware of the fact that I'm not exactly happy with him right now.

"You know what else he'd have fun with? Driving a car, for example. I bet he'd love that," I give him an example to understand that he has to use his brain sometimes when he's taking care of a child who's hardly 4 years old.

"I get that you're mad."

"Taylor, I don't even have the strength to be mad at you anymore, since if I had to be angry with you for everything you did all the time, I would barely find space to live my life. But I guess, to be fair, you had no idea of knowing she would be there. I mean, if _I_ didn't see it coming, how could you have?" There's a moment of silence, and if I didn't know any better I'd say he looks dumbfounded. " _And_ I have to admit, it was kinda funny," I stifle a laugh as the image of Justin having the time of his life re-appears in my mind.

"Of course it was; that's what you have me for. Since, you know, you're not exactly the person to go to if you want to have fun," I playfully punch his shoulder. "What was that for?"

"I am fun," I reply, painfully aware of how easily he's going to dismiss my argument.

"Oh, please, you and I both know you've never gone to sleep later than 8 in the evening."

"Not when you were around," the comment somehow slips past my lips. Awesome. Yes, joke about your past sex life with your ex, because that's a great idea. "Anyway," I clear my throat after a moment of silence, trying to get over the awkwardness, "there's more."

"There always is," he says quietly, and he's right. There's always more when it comes to my mother.

"Okay, don't freak out," I try to prepare him for what I'm about to say next, "but she's back with Garrett."

His body immediately stiffens as he straightens his back, gripping the steering wheel of the unmoving car so hard that his knuckles turn completely white. "That guy who...?" He doesn't finish the question. He doesn't have to.

"Yeah," I answer, quietly.

"Is he here?" He asks, after grinding his teeth for a second.

"I don't know. I got out of there the second she told me," I admit.

"If he even tries to talk to you, you tell me. Your mother's life is fucked up already, but if she wants to make it worse then that's her choice. Frankly, I don't give a shit. But you're not going down with her," he says. He's not _asking_ me to tell him if I see Garrett - he's ordering me to, there's no question. I debate whether or not I should give him the 'you don't get to do that anymore' speech, but I don't. In this situation, I understand, and I would've told him anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

I can't help but wonder if that's how I'm going to end up – miserable, with so little love in my life I look for it in people like Garrett, with my own child wanting nothing to do with me. After all, I do have the genes for it, don't I?

"I know what you're thinking," Taylor interrupts my thoughts, "and you're wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"You're not like her," he says, looking into my eyes as if he's searching my soul. "I see it every time the two of you are next to one another. You're so much stronger than her - you always have been. Your life's going to be different, I promise."

I give him a grateful look. As much as I don't want to admit it, he hasn't lost his ability to make me feel better; he most definitely made me feel better, even if, in the back of my mind, I don't quite believe his promise. "Thanks," I answer, and the grin that spreads over his features forces me to smile.

"So, what are you going to do?" He asks. "About your mom, I mean."

"There's not much I can do, to be honest. I told her she's not seeing Justin if she's with Garrett, but I can't deny her contact with him, just like I can't deny it to you. Neither of you are that bad to deserve that."

"Gee, thanks," he chuckles, and looks to the side. "I know I'll be saying sorry for the rest of my life-"

"You don't have to," I stop him, "I know you're sorry. And whether I forgive you or not-" I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I honestly don't want to think about that right now. But if it makes you feel any better, I probably would prefer your company over hers."

"No, not really," he answers, after sucking air into his mouth through his teeth.

"How's the whole Kevin situation going?" I ask about Taylor's manager, who'd recently threatened to drop him if he doesn't start playing next season.

"I didn't think you'd want to ask me about that, given how I told you about it," he scratches the back of his head with the guiltiest look on his face.

"My hate for Kevin is stronger than my distaste for you at the moment," I answer, not letting myself think about what happened at the bar that night. If I do, I'll have to be angry again, and I want to keep that part of me away for now.

"Understandable," he scoffs. "It's not really going anywhere; we haven't talked. He's not backing down, so if I don't play this season, my hockey career could very well be over."

My heart fills with sadness, seeing the dreams that he's dedicated his life to be at such a high risk. "And if it weren't for Justin and I, you'd play?"

"Hayley, I'm not leaving to spend that much time away from the two of you, there's no question. So, I don't really think it matters what I would've done 2 months ago, since that me is very likely gone," he shakes his head. "I don't think that's the right battle to fight for me anymore. If it works out, then it works out. If it doesn't, I'll just have more time to spend with our kid - if you'll let me - so it's a win-win for me."

_9 years ago_

_The raised voices coming from my house make me speed up my pace as I'm nearing home after school. I try to think of who's home that could be the source of the sounds, but I doubt my mom would be yelling at herself, and hardly anybody ever comes over._

_The brace I have on my ankle from when I considered jumping out of the window to be a good idea two weeks ago is making it a bit hard for me to rush. But by the time I cross the threshold there's another - this time, male - growl, so I run with newfound motivation._

_My heart's practically in my throat by the time I make it to the living room, and when I take in the scene in front of me, it just about stops. It's my mom's new boyfriend - I think his name was Gordon, or something like that - standing in the middle of the room, with an expression that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My mom stands a few feet away from him, clutching her face._

_He takes another step towards her with his fists clutched at his sides._

_"Hey!" I shout at him, knowing what would happen if I didn't do anything to take his attention away from my mom._

_His head shoots up in my direction, clearly surprised to see me there. He's only met me once, when mom had him over the night I snuck out to Taylor's hockey game._

_"Hayley, go," my mom's voice is frantic, but weak. The sheer fear on her face, though, causes shivers to run down my spine._

_The guy takes a second to look me over. There's absolutely no doubt he could crush me with one hand if he wanted to. He's got at least a whole foot on me and much more in pounds. After a short moment he turns, facing away from me and focusing his attention on my mom again, most likely realizing I'm not much of a threat to him._

_He raises his fist, which is when I can't hold myself anymore. I run – or, at least, I attempt to run - to stop him. Since I can't think of anything else to stop him, I try to throw a punch of my own, but that turns out to be an even worse idea than I thought. He somehow sees it coming, and before my fist can make contact with his body, his hand grabs it mid-punch and squeezes it so tightly I feel like all the tiny bones in there will crack under the pressure any moment now. I let out a yelp when he twists my arm in an unnatural angle._

_He then pushes me backwards while letting go of me, but because I'm still blinking away the ache in my hand, I stumble, unable to find balance. I crash into the glass door of the cabinet behind me with my elbow, and with a scream, I fall to the floor. I become dizzy as the sharp - almost hard to grasp, given how intense it is - pain starts shooting from my arm through my entire body._

_Blood._

_It's everywhere when I try to touch my left elbow, which turns out to be a terrible idea._

_I can hear raised voices, even yells, around me, but I have no idea what they're saying, and the only thing I can make out are muffled sounds._

_I somehow scramble up from the floor and do everything I can to get out of the room. I'm half expecting something to try to stop me from leaving the house, but nothing does. I grab someone's hoodie off the couch and press it to my elbow, hoping maybe that'll stop the bleeding._

_With difficulty, I get through the main door and set out to the only place I can think of – Taylor's house. There's black dots all over my vision as I'm walking through the streets, and the simple task of walking seems to be getting harder with each step. Thankfully, there are no people around - at least, not that I've noticed. I'd have a hard time explaining that one to social services, and I definitely don't feel like ending up in foster care._

_By the time I'm standing – or, really, leaning onto his house - I'm letting out heavy breaths, and the world seems to be spinning more and more as time passes by. I ring the doorbell, probably for an unnecessarily long time, and pray that the parked car in the driveway means he's home. I haven't even thought about a scenario where nobody's home, or just his family is, but Taylor isn't. I really don't know what I'd tell them, since I have yet to meet them._

_The door swings open, and there's a woman seemingly in her early forties. Judging by the looks of her, there's no doubt that she must be his mom. There's a deep frown on her face as she scans me. She says something, but the high pitched tone in my ears is making it impossible for me to understand what she's telling me._

_"Is Taylor here?" I ask, and I feel beads of sweat trickling down my shoulders and back as I clutch the hoodie tighter around my elbow._

_"...from school a minute ago," she answers, and this time I manage to make out the second half of the sentence._

_Not knowing how to respond, since I didn't fully hear what she said, I repeat myself. "I need to talk to Taylor," I swallow, but it doesn't make my throat feel any less like sandpaper. My voice is hoarse and weak. I'm pretty sure I've lost a lot of blood, but the hoodie and my sweater are both black, so I can't see it._

_"Hayley," for some reason, I hear his voice loud and clear. Taylor emerges from inside the house, and I feel beyond relieved to see him. His mom steps aside, and when he's close enough, his hand grazes my hair, a worried look etched on his face. "What's going on? You look like..." I lose focus and don't manage to hear what he says._

_I don't have the energy to explain, so, hissing from the pain, I lift the hoodie off my arm. His eyes go wide. "Oh my god," he whispers in horror as he nudges me inside. "Mom," he says, and they share a very brief conversation, but it's too fast for me to follow it, so I don't._

_"We have to take you to the hospital," Taylor announces, and that's when I wake up._

_If they take me to the hospital, the police will get involved, which means they'll find out just how this happened. They could deem my mother unfit to be a parent – which, currently, she kind of is – and that'd mean they'd put me into foster care or a group home, and I'd much rather have a few scars than face that._

_"No," I mutter, finding it difficult to speak, "no, you can't take me to the hospital."_

_"What? Why?" He places a hand on my shoulder as he leans down to be closer to me._

_"I'll explain later, but you can't take me to the hospital, please," he looks at me hopelessly, while sighing heavily._

_His hand leaves my shoulder, and he straightens back up to talk to his mom again. From what I can tell, they argue for a moment, and the next thing I know he's nudging me again, this time towards the couch. I sit down, pleased that the sharp pain is slowly turning dull. I look over at the person next to me, only to find out that it's not Taylor, but his mom sitting there._

_I think she says something, and then she lifts my elbow, inspecting how much damage is done - which is something I'm afraid to find out. I hear Taylor's voice again as he's nearing me. He places something - most likely a box - onto the table in front of us, sitting down beside me. I immediately lean into the safety of his body and all of a sudden feel tired. Not having the strength to fight it I give in as everything turns to black._

_\-----------_

_I wake up in a foreign bed, in an unfamiliar space. The only thing forcing my eyes open is the panic that spreads through me at the realization that I have no idea where or when I am. I sit up abruptly, and the almost blinding pain that shoots through my entire body - the core of it in my elbow – forces me to immediately stop moving._

_The memories of the most recent turn of events start popping up in my mind. The screaming, my mom, her boyfriend, the crash, and then the glass and the bright red color of blood all over my arm, dripping onto the ground from the tips of my fingers._

_I look around and see that I'm not the only one in the room. Next to the bed, on a blanket on the floor, lies Taylor, still deeply asleep, wearing only sweatpants and hugging the pillow that was most likely supposed to be under his head. For a second I can't help but smile to myself at how peaceful, calm, and simply perfect he looks._

_I'm reminded of the situation again when I - having momentarily forgotten about the wounds - turn and hiss in pain. I'm not wearing the tshirt I was yesterday, my elbow's wrapped in bandages - none of which are bleeding through, to my surprise - and I have on the same jeans I did when I got here._

_"Good morning," Taylor says, his voice deep and raspy, having just woken up. I almost jump up from surprise, given he's now sitting next to me on the bed, and the warmth on his bare body that's so close to me makes me lean closer to him._

_"Hi," that simple word drains out way more energy than it should._

_"How are you feeling?" The lightheartedness of his greeting is gone as quickly as it appeared when my injury is brought up._

_"Like I crashed my arm through glass," I answer. It does feel pretty much exactly like you'd expect it to feel: like shit. "What happened here, yesterday? I think I passed out..." I try to remember what happened after I left my house yesterday, but I don't recall anything except for the fact that I was headed to Taylor's._

_"You did. My mom was stitching you up and you fell asleep. She was really freaking out, given the fact that it could be game over if you pass out after you've lost a lot of blood, but she looked over you the entire time until your heartbeat stabilized. Then I carried you over to my bed and slept on the floor, and now we're here," he finishes, and I have even more questions than before._

_"Your mom?" I don't even remember meeting the woman, much less her stitching my arm._

_"Yeah. She's a doctor, so she knew what she was doing," he answers._

_"Since when is your mom a doctor?" I'm still pretty confused._

_"Since I can remember."_

_"How do I - after months of knowing you - not know that?" I ask, surprised that I don't know the most basic things about him, like what his parents do for a living. All the talking we ever do that concerns family is always about my problems._

_"Never came up, I guess," he answers, not fazed one bit. His face quickly turns darker with the next sentence. "Will you tell me how that," he gestures to my arm, "happened?"_

_I sigh. The less people who know, the smaller the chance of me spending time in foster care. "Who are you gonna tell?" I ask, in an attempt to do damage control._

_"Uh, well, I'm expecting my mom to burst through the door any moment now," he answers, and I get nervous._

_"You should put a shirt on, then," I comment. "Two teenagers in a position like this cannot look good," he chuckles at this, and I'm glad I've gotten him to forget about interrogating me for a second._

_He leans in and steals my breath with his lips, taking his time with how gentle his touch is. I'm a bit caught off guard, given the last time we kissed was at the hockey game. Sure, we've held hands a couple times at school, but I still wasn't completely sure we were officially dating. I move my uninjured arm on the back of his head, knitting my fingers through the messy bed hair he has, enjoying the feeling of his soft curls._

_His kisses increase on intensity as he places his hand on one of my thighs, lightly pressing his fingertips into it. He moans when the kiss deepens, and for a second I think he's going to push me back onto the bed and tower over me. I wouldn't have one problem with that - to hell with my elbow._

_Then, to my disappointment, he pulls away. "As much as I would love to continue, you need to tell me what happened, so that I can make sure this doesn't ever happen again," he gets up from the bed, leaving me sitting there with the bedsheets tangled around me. He bends down to the floor and picks up a shirt that he pulls over his head a second later._

_Then, as if on cue, the woman who must be his mom opens the door. "Good morning," she says in a stern voice, her brows furrowed in a frown._

_"Hey, mom," Taylor answers carelessly, and I'm just left very relieved that he put a shirt on a few seconds ago, because if he hadn't, I don't want to know what she would've thought._

_"Hi," I chirp, not having remembered meeting my_ boyfriend's _mother yet._

_"How's your arm, Hayley?" she asks._

_"Hurts," I reply, most definitely underplaying the pain I feel any time I move even an inch. It feels like someone is taking a cheese grater and grating my elbow with it, any time I try to move it._

_"I have to check on it, but first you have to tell me how this happened," she announces, as Taylor sits next to me on the bed._

_I slump my shoulders. Of course I knew she was going to ask, but I guess a part of me was hoping I could keep it to myself. The less people who know the truth, the better._

_I sigh. Here we go. "To be honest, I'm not completely sure, myself. My mom has a boyfriend – or, had after yesterday, I guess. I hardly know anything about him. I've seen him a total of two times in my life, but she talked him up as if he's the best guy she's ever met. I was going home after school yesterday and I heard someone yelling something, so I rushed inside and he was there, all fired up, and my mom was clearly hurt, so I connected the dots pretty quickly. She told me to go, but I didn't want to leave her, so I tried to stop him. He pushed me backwards and I stumbled into a glass cabinet," I keep my head down while taking, not wanting to make eye contact with either Taylor or his mother._

_"That's about where my memories of yesterday end. I remember coming here, but pretty vaguely," I feel Taylor's hand grabbing mine under the bed sheets. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you," I finally look up and meet his mother's gaze. "I moved here a few months back; I don't really know anyone else here, except for Taylor."_

_"Oh, don't worry, honey. I'm glad you came. The important thing is that you're okay. Why didn't you want to go to the hospital so much?" Her question makes some more pictures of the previous day pop up in my head. I remember arguing with Taylor about this, and I most certainly remember why._

_"Well," I begin, not quite sure how to put it, "I live alone with my mom, and there's no other family that could take care of me. I was just afraid that if I went to the hospital and they found out what happened, they'd take me away, and I'd end up in foster care."_

_She nods a few times. "So I'm guessing your father isn't in the picture," a sharp sting goes through my body at the mention of my dad, but some of that pain goes unfelt thanks to Taylor squeezing my hand a little, helping me find comfort._

_"No, he passed almost two years ago," I answer._

_"Oh," she says, and looks at me apologetically. "I'm sorry."_

_"It's okay," I reply, probably trying to convince her as much as myself that it really is fine._

_"Well," she begins, looking around for a while before focusing her gaze back on me, "even knowing your situation, I still strongly recommend getting checked out. There's so many things that just me looking at you won't reveal, but that the technology we have could."_

_"There's no way they won't ask me how I got injured. I mean, that's what they look for in every injury, isn't it? Some kind of domestic abuse..." I reply._

_"Doesn't change the fact that this is very unsafe," she keeps arguing. It takes me another 10 minutes to convince her that, even knowing all the risks, I still don't want to see a doctor. Taylor sits quietly beside me for the duration of the argument, and I'm victorious in the end when she, with a sigh, leaves for work._

_"I'm honestly surprised she didn't force you to go. She never asks me things - it's always orders for me. I'm either doing something or I'm not," he chuckles. "What about your mom?"_

_Just then it hits me. My mom. I left her and never checked to see what had happened after I ran._


	7. six

"I didn't know you had a place here," I comment, drinking the glass of water that Taylor poured me in his apartment in Portland.

That's right, he has an apartment in Portland.

And not just any apartment — by the looks of it, a very expensive one. All he has to do now is tell me he's not renting it for me to lose my mind completely.

"I didn't," he answers bluntly. "I mean, I wasn't going to get one. At the end of the day, the only reason I was here was to get into a shape in which I could play next season. I wasn't planning on staying longer than a month or two."

"And now you want to stay longer?" I interrupt him.

"So long as you and Justin are here, then yes, my entire life, if that's what you want," my eyes widen at the confession. The way he says it, as if he's telling me about what he bought at the grocery store and not possibly the most gut wrenching thing I've heard in a long time, scares me even more.

"I told you I wasn't leaving, Hayley," he reads my thoughts again, "and you've made it clear that you don't believe me, so instead of talking, I settled for doing. I know I don't have your trust anymore, so this is one of my ways of earning it back."

Since I don't know what to say to that, I change the topic. "Why did you need to talk to me?"

"Oh yeah," he says, as if he forgot why he invited me over. "I'm playing a game this weekend."

"I'm sorry, what?" I don't give him the space to elaborate, since I hope he's kidding. There's absolutely no way he's being serious.

"Kevin thought it would be a good idea," he comments.

"Kevin?!" I exclaim, not wanting to believe that he's still letting that sorry excuse for a man manipulate him. "You still listen to him? Not to mention, didn't you say he wants to drop you?"

"Hayley, believe it or not, he knows a lot about this industry and he's really good at his job. Yes, he is an ass, but he's good and he knows what he's doing. And I want to get out there, show everyone I'm okay and that I haven't lost it."

"Didn't you just wake up from a coma?" I fire back.

"And I feel great," he answers with that grin I want to punch his face over.

"This is a terrible idea, Taylor! Aren't you scared? Are you sure you're ready for that again after all this time? Having to learn to walk again and all..." I let my concern show, but still keep my voice raised. He bites his lip and smiles. "Why are you doing that?" I refer to his face.

"I didn't know you still cared that much," I shake my head, yet again not knowing what to say.

"Taylor," I sigh, searching for the right thing to say, "however long ago it might've been, I loved you more than anything once, and as much as I wanted to I can't forget that. And when I heard you were in a coma — god, I hated you so much then, but my world stopped for a second, because something might've happened to you and I didn't know if you were okay. So I don't think I will ever not care."

"I'll be fine," he says, while cupping my face, making me look up at him. "I promise," he adds, and the pure, untainted love in his eyes is quickly replaced by the realization that years have passed since he could get this close to me and it'd be okay, so he pulls away.

But it is okay.

Nothing about that felt even a little wrong. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say I wanted him to hold me like that.

I think about something else, not allowing my mind to continue dwelling on that, since I don't like the direction in which it's going. "Um," Taylor clears his throat, clearly feeling the tension just as much as I am, "anyway, I was wondering if maybe you and Justin would want to come? He likes sports, doesn't he?"

Glad he doesn't mention the awkward moment, I answer. "Yeah, he does," and I have no doubt Taylor knows that. He doesn't see the boy that much, since I'm trying to take this slowly, but ever since he got the new skates he's been begging us two to take him to the ice rink again, every chance he gets. As expected, Taylor's all for that, but I don't want to go — since, for one, I'm terrible at skating, and two, that'd just mean spending more time with Taylor. As much as I know that's inevitable, since we're parents together, I want to avoid that.

"Are you sure you should be doing that so soon after the injury?" I can't accept that him playing a game this early after his near death experience could mean anything even remotely good.

"Yes. I feel great, and I need to show that to everyone, so that the hockey world doesn't just forget about my existence. And it's just a friendly match; it doesn't matter how the game ends, so we're not going to want to kill each other, which is what it might seem like in some more important matches. Not to mention, if I don't play, Kevin will lose his shit," he blows out some air when he talks about the ass that's his manager.

"Wait, so he's come to terms with you not playing next season?" I ask. It's not very like Kevinto do that, to let Taylor have his way. But then again, the last time I saw the two of them argue was a long time ago.

"I certainly hope so, but I honestly don't know what's going on inside his head, so your guess is as good as mine," after a moment of silence, he continues. "So, will you come? You're kind of the only people I know here."

"If it's this weekend, I'll have to move a shift at work, but that's usually not a big deal, and you know as well as I do that Justin will want to go," I answer, already knowing what the kid's reaction will be. He'll absolutely want to go.

"So is that a yes?" A grin creeps its way onto his face.

"Sure, why not?" I answer unenthusiastically, not wanting to grant him the satisfaction of convincing me.

"Awesome, I'll see you then."

As we're looking for our seats, Justin can hardly stop himself from jumping up and down in excitement. To say he was thrilled to find out that we were going to see a hockey game is an understatement, but it was only when I told him Taylor would be playing that he went full freak out mode.

Trying to get through the surprising amount of people that came — which I wasn't anticipating, given it's a random friendly game, and those aren't exactly the biggest magnet for attention — I'm more than glad I invited Ashley to go with us, so that the boy doesn't get lost somewhere in the sea of fans. I have no doubt that the majority of those people came to see Taylor, though. One of the biggest names in the NHL on the ice again after almost dying just a few months ago? That's gotta be a headline in more than one magazine.

The moment Ashley finally spots our seats, I feel my phone vibrate in the back pocket of my jeans. Stopping for a bit, I decide to check it, only to find a text from Taylor.

_I need to talk to you. like now. meet me below the bleachers_

I sigh heavily. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I look around at the empty ice rink and the people around me, and before I have the chance to slip my phone back into my pocket, I get another message from him.

_please_

"I'm going to the bathroom, you can stay here and watch over Justin, hopefully I'll be back before the game starts," I say. I don't tell her the truth, because I'm not in the time or place where I want to talk about my feelings — or, rather, my feelings towards him. If there even are any, I know there shouldn't be.

"Alright, I think I saw a restroom by the popcorn stands," she answers, easily believing me, which is new. I'm not the greatest liar, especially when it's to people that know me, so either my abilities to not tell the truth have somehow improved or she can't really pay attention to me since the place is so crowded.

The chatter muffles the further away from the main source of the noise I get. Pulling the hood of my hoodie over my head, I slip past security, who were too busy talking to each other to notice me. I've never been to this particular hockey stadium, but I've been to a lot of other ones, and this part of the building seems to be very similar, or practically the same, in all of them.

When I'm looking for Taylor, I spot one or two players giving interviews, neither of whom I recognize. Passing some people in suits I finally see him talking to another just as huge guy in the same colored jersey as Taylor, stepping from one skate to another, chewing on the thumb of his hockey glove out of nervousness. More than anything, he looks scared.

"Taylor," I say his name once I'm close enough, sweeping the hood off my head.

The both of them turn towards me. They look like giants from my perspective, the skates they're both wearing adding to their height. Too bad it didn't cross my mind to wear anything else but my old beat up pair of converse.

The other guy frowns, while the fear in Taylor's eyes is replaced by relief. "Hayley," he breathes my name out, and with a few long strides, he gets to me and pulls me into his arms. Under normal circumstances, I'd pull away, or at least somehow let him know that we're not quite in a place where that's... appropriate, given the past. But, for whatever reason, I do none of those things.

"You came," he says, seemingly surprised to see me. I know I shouldn't have come, but couldn't help myself.

"Yeah," I say weakly, searching his eyes for what's wrong, for the reason why he needed to talk to me.

"I'll leave you to it," the other guy says, and then walks away.

"What's going on?" I watch Taylor's teammate leave until he's out of earshot to ask.

"I'm kinda freaking out," he says, his breathing still much faster than it usually is.

"Why?" I continue, speaking softly, since whatever's got him this riled up has to be something major.

"I might've been over exaggerating a little bit when I told you I felt completely fine playing again," he confesses, grinning nervously, as if he's bracing himself for my reaction. "The last memory I have of playing is the world disappearing around me," he trails off.

"You don't have to play; there's enough players on a team for one not to have to play at all. I'm sure your coach will understand," I reply, kind of glad he's giving me another opportunity to change his mind about needing to play tonight.

"The coach might, but Kevin won't. And what's worse is that if I don't show up, everyone will think exactly what I don't want them to think; that I don't have it in me anymore. And whether that's true or not doesn't matter, since nobody will want to pick me up after that, and all of this will be over just like that," his speech is rapid, something that's characteristic for him when he's not feeling like himself.

I bite the inside of my mouth, understanding just how bad of a situation this is for him. "So what are you going to do?"

"I'll have to get over it and play," he says, blowing out some air, "I just don't know how."

Then there's silence filled by the muffled chatter of the people above us and the door to the changing room occasionally opening and closing. "Your jersey still has the same number," I comment, just now noticing that it hasn't changed.

"Why does that surprise you?" He asks.

"I don't know. I thought that... since you made it 26 because of me, maybe you wouldn't want it anymore, after we broke up," for some reason, saying that sentence makes me feel like something's stabbing me through my chest. How can something as mundane as a jersey number mean so much?

"Oh," he nods his head. "Well, I didn't change it," he points out the obvious.

There's another awkward silence.

"You know, this feels awfully familiar," he says, and waves his arms around, "this 'I'm about to go play and we're talking under the bleachers' thing."

I smile at the memory of the very first time we had a conversation in a similar setting, when I comforted him during the qualifiers for the championship. It's one of those memories I locked deep, deep inside my mind after he left, because it was one of the happiest ones. It was the first time we kissed.

"Yeah," I comment, my smile quickly fading, "it feels like a world away now." With that, I lock the memory away again, my only motivation being the little boy I left my best friend with a few minutes ago.

"Taylor, you might want to come back," another player with the same jersey color says. The both of us turn to see who'd just spoken, and I find myself at a loss for words when I see a familiar face. It's Taylor's friend from college; they two of them used to share a dorm, I remember seeing him when I visited. The guy squints his eyes at me, clearly sensing the recognition.

After a short break, he turns to Taylor again. "Coach wants to talk to you, apparently. At least, that's what McCoy said. He's also not the only one looking for you, since you've been out here for the past, like, 30 minutes."

"Okay, thanks," Taylor answers, putting his emotions away so that his teammate doesn't see just how nervous he is right now.

"The game starts in 10, so just make sure you're there in time," the guy says, and picks up one of the sticks from the stand on the wall next to their locker room.

"I know," he replies simply, while his teammate walks away.

"Half an hour?" I ask about how long Taylor's been freaking out like this. I don't even really bother addressing the incident that happened mere seconds ago, since it's not the most oppressing problem right now.

"More, actually," he says, while letting out a nervous laugh. "46 minutes, to be exact. I keep checking my phone. I wasn't going to text you; I thought I had this, but I really don't think I can do this, and, yet, at the same time, I know I don't have a choice."

"Can't you just think about something else?" I question. "There has to be something that'll make you remember what it used to feel like to play the game before the accident."

"Like what?" He asks sarcastically, throwing his arms around, seemingly losing it a little. "I can think about how my son has spent the entirety of his life thinking he doesn't have a dad, or how the one time I tried to do the right thing, I ruined every good thing that's ever happened to me."

I stand there, not having an answer for his frustration. Again I have to wonder what he's referring to with 'trying to do the right thing' and that backfiring, since this isn't the first time he's mentioned something of the sort, and I can't help but feeling that it has something to do with me. He has told me multiple times that I don't know everything of what happened, but I've never really thought about that — I haven't allowed myself to think about what he could've been talking about when he said that.

"Sorry," he apologizes right as I'm about to ask him what he's referring to, "I just get a little out of my element when I'm nervous."

"I remember," I comment, letting my suspicions go, at least for now.

He looks me right in the eyes, and I can see he's doing everything in his power to make it seem like he's not scared anymore, but he doesn't do a good enough job for me not to notice the fear. "I should probably get going. I'm sorry for making you come here like this, I don't know what I was expecting," he tries to smile, but yet again, it just looks weird.

"Wait," I say, against all of my better judgement, fighting the rational part of me that knows that letting him leave is the best thing to do.

He looks back at me, and this time he forgets his walls. He's petrified, and that fear squeezes my heart to the breaking point. I see the same boy he was when he told me about his best friend's death, or when his brother had passed, and I can't take another second of it.

"Everything will be okay," my pathetic attempt at convincing him fails, since even I don't believe what I'm saying.

"I hope so," he says, this time with much more control, having had the chance to adjust. We stare at each other for another second, before he starts leaving again.

"Don't go yet," for some reason, I stop him again. I can tell that under all of the emotion behind facing one of his biggest fears, he's a little confused. "I still care about you, Taylor. My heart will never let me not care about you," I let out, knowing very well I shouldn't.

He stands there, searching my eyes, most likely for my motives for saying what I just said, and whether I meant it. I did. Then he just nods and walks away, leaving me perhaps just as confused as he seemed to be. I thought he wanted to hear that from me. I haven't even let the thought to slip through my mind, but now, with everything that's going on with Justin and the two of them growing closer, I think I have to.

He wants us to get back together. Those words echo through my mind for a solid minute before I shut them out again, concentrating on the chatter of people I pass by, the noise the popcorn machine makes, and just about anything else but those words that make everything so much harder.

By the time I return to my seat, the game's starting, as some guy announces the players of each team one by one. The crowd roars when Taylor's name is announced, and he skates on the ice as if the last hour of his life as well as the accident didn't happen, full of confidence.

I can't help but grin at Justin's high pitched cheering when he sees his father, waving a piece of cardboard in the air. He'd spent the entire evening before making it, seeing as he can't write yet, and it might just be the most adorable thing I've ever seen. It says 'go Taylor' (I had to write down both words with a pencil for him, so that he could decorate them) with three exclamation points, and his jersey number below the words. He added the third one last and ran out of space, so it's not even half as thick as the other two punctuation marks.

"Why isn't Taylor playing?" Justin asks me at the end of the first period, in which the older York made an appearance exactly twice and for about 30 seconds.

"The coach of the team usually chooses which player gets to be on the ice, so it's probably just that," I answer, trying to convince myself that I'm not lying.

"Stupid coach," he says, crossing his arms over his chest with the biggest frown I've seen on him in a long time. I think about telling him he shouldn't say things like that, but decide against it, seeing as my mind is too busy worrying about Taylor to let those thoughts stay longer than a few seconds. There might also be the fact that he looks too cute when he's sulking.

The second period is different, though, starting with the fact that he's on the ice longer than a total of one minute. He even took a shot at the goalie, but unfortunately missed — which, needless to say, made Justin blame the same other player for blocking Taylor even thought none of the rules were broken.

When the last 20 minutes of the game are about to start, I realize I've been so busy worrying that I didn't even notice that the game is tied 3 to 3. I pick my phone up and type up a message that says, "you're doing great". I consider using a heart emoji, since I know that would make him feel better, but then press the button, sending just the three words. He's probably not going to notice it anyway.

Before I even close my phone, though, he replies.

_I know_

What an asshole. I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from grinning. Of course he'd say that. He was as pale as the ice he's skating on less than an hour ago, and now he's being cocky.

With the last 10 minutes on the clock ticking down, he seems better, a lot better. He looks like the old Taylor before everything happened, confident and enjoying himself. When he wins the face-off, reaching for the puck the same exact millisecond it leaves the referee's hand, I see him completely return. It's incredible how he could get back into shape so fast after an injury that did so much damage physically as well as mentally.

Him and his teammate, the one he was talking to when I saw him at the bleachers, find an escape in the enemy's defense and sprint forward. There's only one player besides the goalie in their way, so there's no way they're not going to score.

Until something happens.

Taylor's in control of the puck, and an enemy player's trying to steal it from him in some not so rule-friendly ways. He reaches his stick into Taylor's skates, making it difficult for him to keep moving, and forcing him to pass to his teammate. But at that point it was too late. When he was focusing on the pass, his skate got caught up in the other team's player's stick. By the time he notices, he's in too deep, his foot already caught up behind him. Next thing I know, he's lounging forward as he loses his balance.

My heart stops.

It wasn't just a fall; that would've been more or less nothing and more than frequent in hockey, but because of the speed he was going at, the collision was that much harder, his face crashing into the cold hard ice, the helmet not helping him as much as it could have if he fell at a different angle. I swear I could almost hear the ice cracking beneath him.

He lays there, face down, not moving. I can't breathe. I don't see or notice anything or anyone around me except for Taylor lying on the ground, and the whistle that's blown as soon as the referee notices what happened. I'm still seemingly unable to inhale oxygen.

Taylor's teammates rush to his side, by which time he finally moves. He pulls himself up with the help of his friends, and only then do I finally find the ability to breathe.

They take him away, and my gaze stays glued to where he had laid, more specifically on the red stain where his head used to be. I can't take my eyes off of the bright color as horror fill me, because the sight is all too similar to what I saw in that YouTube video of his accident. This is exactly what he was afraid of. I should've done more when he told me to go see him.

I have to look down as someone tugs on my shirt, my eyes finding Justin's worried face. I completely forgot about him. I also didn't even realize I was standing up.

"Is Taylor okay?" He asks, his voice full of fear, forcing me to think straight — which is proving to be way harder than I thought it would be. I'm pretty sure he didn't see the blood, thanks to his height, so I just play it off as 'tripping' to calm him down. I can tell he's not completely convinced, but it'll have to do.

"I'll be right back," I mumble as I hurry towards the stairway that goes down the bleachers, separating some of the seats. I'm not even sure what I'm doing, but I don't have the time to think, as there's only one thought in my head, and that's whether or not Taylor's okay. Nothing else matters right now. It's crazy to think about how many times I've wanted him to leave so bad, only to get into a situation like this.

As I approach the players' locker rooms, the ground is littered with more and more journalists and cameramen — like me, they want to find out what state Taylor's in. There's no way I'm getting past them, especially considering the guards that are actually doing their job now that something's happened.

I squeeze my way through most of them, but when I get to the security, I realize just how unrealistic me actually getting where I want to go is. I stand on my tiptoes to try to see past them all, but even if I did manage to see anything — which I don't — it wouldn't help me.

"Hayley," someone says my name. I frown and look around, but don't see anyone familiar. "Over here," the voice speaks again, and I finally connect a face with it. It's Taylor's teammate, the one who I saw earlier before the game.

He gently grips my forearm and pulls me in his direction, giving a nod to the security while doing so. And just like that, the huge crowd's behind me.

"Thank you so much," I say, letting out a huge breath of relief. I was never gonna get here unless someone helped me.

"No problem. I owe Taylor one, anyway," he answers. Did Taylor say something about me, or is that just him assuming he'll want to see me? Either way, it doesn't matter right now.

"Is he okay?" I ask, afraid of the answer I might get as we hurry towards where I assume Taylor is.

"I didn't see how the fall happened, but as far as injuries go, I think he'll be fine. He'll definitely underplay it, though. I mean, you know him," he answers, while ignoring a reporter that was asking him for a statement.

I do know him. Even if he's in excruciating pain, he'll absolutely wave his arm like it's nothing, as though he's not hurt whatsoever.

Another weight is lifted off me, though. Judging by what he said and the way he said it, it can't be as bad as I thought. As we get further away from the journalists, I spot some people in suits arguing in front of a room that Taylor's teammate grabs the door handle of.

"Just brace yourself for what you might see — face wounds bleed a lot more than others," he warns, and I stop, about to ask him what the hell he's talking about, since just a few seconds ago he was saying how Taylor will be fine, but he doesn't give me the chance, as he opens the door and basically shoves me into the room. As soon as I'm fully standing in there, he shuts the door behind me, most likely to prevent any unwanted attention from going our way.

Taylor's sitting in the middle of the space with his head down, not even having noticed me, but other than that there's nobody else in the room — which is kind of strange, since I was expecting to at least see a doctor, or someone.

"Taylor?" I question. He immediately looks up, and I gasp at the sight in front of me. The entire half of his face is covered in blood. There's so much of it that I can't even tell where its source is. "Oh my god," I whisper, and run towards him. I gently nudge his face upwards so that I can see him better, since, because of his sitting position, I'm above him.

"I'm really happy to see you right now," he says, and grins, but it only forces him to wince because of his busted lip. I lightly trace my fingers over the drying blood on his head, unable to shake the horror out of me. "Are you gonna say something?" He asks, as if he doesn't look like someone ran over his entire face.

"Are you okay?" I manage to say, in a shaky voice.

"Oh, this?" He points to his head. "That's nothing. You should've seen the other guy," I can't help but chuckle at his attempt at making a joke out of this.

There's silence for a bit until I break it. "Are you really okay? I mean," I stop, searching for the right words, "isn't this exactly what you were afraid of?"

"I'm trying not to think about it," he answers, and then he looks at me, letting me see what he's really feeling. He just looks disappointed more than anything, and I hate seeing him like that.

It's also in that moment that I realize I let my hands wander, and they're now both going through his curls. I think about stopping, and I definitely should stop, but I can't bring myself to do it — they're too soft for me to let go.

"Can you keep doing that, please?" He asks, almost closing his eyes as he leans his head more into my hands. "It's comforting." I nod while massaging his scalp. I don't even care that I might be crossing the line right now; he's hurt, and I don't have the capacity to focus on anything else.

"Is there no doctor here? How come nobody's helping you right now?" I ask, after what could've been 2 or 3 minutes of the two of us just being there.

"I told them to go away," he says, while gesturing to what looks like an open first aid kit on the table next to him. "I wanted to be alone."

I go over to the opened box and pick up one of the cotton balls. Only then do I realize that this is actually a medical room — there's doctor gear all over this place, but I was too busy with Taylor to notice. Once I've wet the cotton just enough, I get back to him and place my right hand on the side of his face that seems okay, slightly tilting his head up before starting to wipe the blood away.

"Thank you," he says, out of nowhere. "You're exactly the person I needed to feel okay. I didn't think I'd see you again today," he keeps talking, not even slightly reacting to the fact that I'm now touching the wound itself, since I've cleaned the majority of the blood. It's actually not as bad as I had thought; it goes from his eyebrow to the middle of his temple, but it seems fairly surface.

I don't know what to say. Should I say that I needed to come, because I literally wouldn't've been able to take another breath without knowing if he was alright? No, I shouldn't say that, because that would make it real.

"How did you even get here? If the press can't get through... I mean, you must've pulled something really creative," he interrupts my thoughts, and I'm grateful for that.

"Your friend," I answer, "the one you went to college with. He helped me past security and showed me the way here."

"Damn. Well, I'm gonna have to thank him later," he says.

"You know Justin thought you played great," I smile thinking about him. "He spent the entire evening last night making you a cardboard sign."

"He did?" Taylor asks, his reaction to me mentioning the boy being the same as mine, except he lets out a small chuckle, too.

"Yeah. He wanted to see you play so badly that he wouldn't talk about anything else; and when I say that, I really mean he wouldn't talk about anything else. He also blamed your coach for not letting you play at the beginning of the game."

Taylor laughs a genuine, true laugh. "I wish."

"You should talk to him. I know it hasn't been long, but he cares about you," I tell him, steering the conversation in a more serious direction while putting the cotton away, since the cut seems clean now.

"Yeah," he says, while sighing. "I care about him, too. More than you know, probably," he mumbles the last part, probably not intending for me to hear it, but joke's on him. And as much as I hate to admit it, it makes me happy to hear that. Actually, no — that simple comment spread hope through my entire body.

I think I might finally be warming up to him again, after all this time.

_9 years ago_

_My mom. I have to go see what happened to her. I can't believe I hadn't thought about it before. While I was here, sleeping, she was probably fighting for her life — or worse. I don't even want to think about it._

_"Where are you going?" I'm met with Taylor's confused face when I run downstairs out of nowhere._

_"Home," I say simply, jogging — or, more accurately, limping — around the house and looking for where I left my clothes. It's November, which in Nashville means snow and cold. Michelle left for work a few minutes ago, forbidding me from leaving, which I mindlessly agreed to, not thinking of the closest person I have, which is just another striking reminder of why I'm a horrible daughter._

_"Wait- I mean, what?" He says, from somewhere behind me. "Didn't you hear my mom? You can't leave. Besides, what if that freak who almost killed you yesterday is still there?" He argues with me while I celebrate the small victory of finding some random hoodie that is most definitely way too big for me. I guess the one from yesterday is gone now. Or did I even bring clothes with me here? I don't remember._

_"Hayley, are you listening to me?" Having found what I needed, I ignore him and go for the door, which doesn't work out the way I'd hoped, as his body's blocking the exit before I have the chance to get out. "What the hell are you doing?"_

_"My mom," I suddenly feel tears streaming down my face. Why the hell am I crying? All of the events that took place yesterday start replaying in my head, with more details than I was originally able to recall. It's hard to think about the fact that it all even happened; it seems like something from a shitty TV show, not my life. A sob erupts through my chest, and I feel someone's arms wrap around my body, pulling me closer to theirs. I'm still not quite sure why I'm crying hysterically in Taylor's embrace, but I can't stop it. Call it PTSD, maybe?_

_He runs his hand through my hair, and I grip his torso more tightly with my good arm, searching for comfort. "Shh," he whispers into my hair, and I have a hard time focusing on what he's saying, as the fear for my mother's life is everywhere, "you really shouldn't be going anywhere right now. I'll go check your house-"_

_"Are you mad?" I pull away, having heard his ridiculous idea, wiping away the tears that didn't sink into his tshirt. "Do you have any clue how dangerous that is?"_

_"Oh, is that why you were going to go there by yourself, while you can hardly stand on your own without someone or something supporting you?" He points out the hypocrisy in my statement, but I don't care._

_"I was going to go there because somehow, in all of this chaos, I didn't think to check on the person who was in trouble in the first place. And I should've thought of it, but I didn't. And it's my mess to make right on-"_

_"No, it's your mother's mess," he interrupts me._

_I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don't have the time to do this right now. "That's not the point. The point is that someone I really care about could be really hurt right now, and I have to go."_

_"You're gonna kill me one day," he sighs, and pulls on a jacket that was previously draped over the couch._

_"What are you doing?" I ask, not understanding his actions._

_"I'm going with you," he states, as if he was answering a question the likes of what's 2 plus 2._

_"No, you're not," I respond, but he's already out the door. "Taylor, stop!" I yell, running after him._

_"If you think I'm letting you go back there alone, you're actually out of your mind," he answers coldly, once I've finally caught up to him. We're not walking in the direction of my house, though. He walks around his garage and bends down to grab something. A baseball bat._

_"What do you have that for?" I question, already knowing the answer,_

_"Self-protection. Now let's go," he commands, and I have no choice but to follow._

_We don't talk at all on the way to where I live. I don't attempt to make any conversation, and he seems rather annoyed with me, so we stay silent all the way through, and the only thing I can hear is my heartbeat that accelerates by the second. The images of what I could potentially find flash through my mind; I haven't been able to bring myself to think about it, but what if she's dead? What if I open the door and I see her lifeless body?_

_I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to think about anything else but that._

_As we approach the house, everything seems... normal. Oddly normal — almost too much for me to believe it. The car is parked in the driveway like it always is, since my mother finds it a waste of time to just use the garage like a normal person, so there's nothing unusual about this place._

_"Are you sure you want to do this?" Taylor's annoyance is, to my relief, gone, and it's been replaced by concern._

_"I can't just leave here knowing she might be hurt inside," I say, my voice feeling smaller than it has in a while._

_Taylor nods and pulls at the door knob until there's a clicking sound that sends a shiver through my body. It's unlocked, which means that, whatever happened to my mom, she hasn't left here. He leads the way in, and I follow him. Taylor slowly reestablishes his grip on the baseball bat as he takes careful steps, one after another._

_I hold my breath the entire time we walk through the house, as we slowly approach where everything had happened yesterday – the living room. There's nobody there. The shattered glass from the cabinet I crashed into is cleaned up, but the bloodstains on the carpet — as well as the now destroyed piece of furniture — are still there. What the hell? Who had done this?_

_Then I hear voices, followed by steps. Taylor instinctively steps in front of me, facing the direction of the sounds. "Stay back, whatever you do. If something bad goes down, you run. Do you understand?" He whispers, gripping the bat as if he's about to strike a ball. My throat is so dry that I can't get the words out, preventing me from arguing. "Hayley, do y-"_

_"Who is this?" My mother's voice echoes through the space._

_"Mom?" I ask, convinced that my eyes are playing tricks on me. She emerges from behind the wall, still wearing her night gown, as if she'd just woken up. I can't believe what I'm seeing; it's really her, okay, standing there._

_I take a run for it, needing to make sure she's real, but Taylor's strong arm stops me. I'm about to tell him to let me go when I freeze._

_It's him._

_My mom's 'boyfriend' walks up from behind her, placing a hand on her shoulders, as if they're a couple. Taylor senses my reaction to him and prepares his baseball bat again, after having rested it when we saw my mother._

_"Hayley," she breathes, and takes a few steps towards me, but Taylor's arm forces me backwards. "Where have you been?" She asks._

_Wait, what? This is a joke, right?_

_"Are you serious, woman?" Taylor speaks before I have the chance to say anything, and I'm grateful. I have no idea how I'd form what I'm feeling right now into words._

_She rolls her eyes at him, a gesture I'm used to getting from her whenever I say something she doesn't want to deal with._

_"And who are you?" The guy who I have to thank for the bandages on my elbow asks._

_Taylor's grip on the bat lessens as his back straightens, seemingly having just as hard of a time as I am with trying to grasp this situation. I can tell he wants to say something, do something, but instead he turns to me and looks me in the eyes, a question written in his own. I shake my head and grab his hand, turning for the exit._

_"Where are you going?" My mom asks._

_I scoff and shift my gaze to the side before looking at her. "Out of here."_

_She says something after that, but I block it out, not wanting to hear whatever she's telling me, because I don't think there's anything she could say that would make this situation okay. Taylor follows me out without a word, and when my mom grabs for my arm, he stops her, his own hand being faster than her's. Shock writes itself over her face, but the only thing I let myself focus on is the exit._

_"Do you think there's a chance for her?" I ask Taylor when we get back to his house again, after what was possibly the most bizarre experience of my life._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Like," I take a second to think, "will she ever recover from my dad's death? The fact that, even after yesterday, she let that guy stay the night, that's just..." I trail off, still trying to wrap my head around what happened. I know she'll tell me that he didn't mean to push me into the cabinet — but, even though there's a pretty high chance of that being true, it doesn't change anything._

_"I have no idea;I don't know her at all. But what matters is that you're safe. The only waythat guy will ever get close to you again is over my dead body."_


	8. seven

"You wanted to see me?" I ask, entering my boss' office.

He's a guy in his forties and has been running this diner - as well as a few other places - for a long time, which has definitely taken a toll on him. "Take a seat," he gestures to the chair opposite from his desk, and I sit down, a little nervous about this whole situation. "I wanted to talk to you about this weekend."

I stop everything for a second. This could be bad. This past weekend was Taylor's game. I was supposed to have a shift then, but I told him I couldn't come because Justin was sick and I had to stay home with him. I figured he wouldn't question it, since that has actually happened before and he's never had anything to say about it. But his, 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed,' tone has me a little on edge.

"I'm not quite sure how to begin," he sighs. "I've known you for a while now, Hayley. Long enough to know that you're a good person, which is why I want you to know that what I've decided to do brings me no joy."

He takes another moment to look at me, making my nerves basically scream in my head. Then he leans over his table and places some kind of magazine in front of me. I furrow my brows, having expected a lot, but not that. Then it all becomes clear to me as he flips through the pages for a while until he settles on a certain double page.

My throat goes dry as I read the headline and then look at the picture below it: 'Taylor York and his new girlfriend share a moment.' I slide the magazine over the table to get a better view. The picture isn't great in quality, but you can clearly see the two of us, with my hand on his cheek and him intensely looking at me. Although reality is different, I can definitely understand why, by looking at the photo, people would assume the connection between us was something more than friends.

I start skimming the double page of paragraphs written about that evening, but I'm interrupted by my boss' voice. "You lied to me," he states, not as an accusation, but as a fact. "Frankly, I don't care about your love life, or that my employee's in the tabloids - but this is crossing the boundaries I thought you were aware of."

There's another moment of nerve-wracking silence before he speaks again. "I'm sorry. You're fired."

Everything slows down as my eyes widen at the announcement. That can't happen. This job is my main source of income, and I have a kid to provide for.

"Because I made one mistake?" I ask, searching for something to change his mind. He himself has to admit, though, that this is a little too harsh of a decision to fire me for one minor incident.

"It's not just that, though, that definitely contributed. You have to know yourself that you've been... well, somewhere else. Mentally, I mean. You've had trouble staying focused, you leave here early, and so on. I wish you no harm. I'm truly not doing this out of spite; I just think it'd be best for you to see what other things life has to offer or just take the time to resolve the situations in your personal life," he replies.

I'm left just sitting there, looking at him, stunned. "I have a kid," I finally get out of myself, "I need a job."

"And I'm sure you'll get one; just not here anymore," he says, and I want to explain to him that it's not that simple, but I'd be wasting my time. He stands up and heads for the exit out of his office. "I hope you understand my decision."

"Can I keep this?" I pick the magazine up in my hand, still unable to take my eyes off it.

"Sure," he answers, before leaving the room.

I take the time to look at the article written about Taylor and I. The first few paragraphs talk about how this was his first game since the accident, touching on what actually happened on the ice. But then, it's the next headline that catches my eye: 'New girlfriend - or is she?' I frown and start reading.

"The identity of the woman spotted with the hockey player remains unknown, but we do have some information about the pair's possible shared history. Our source - who, according to them, knew York in his college years - dated someone back then who could very well be our mystery girl. Now, whether that's true or not obviously still remains unknown, but given York's nonexistent dating past, it sounds possible.'

My breathing increases as I read the words this reporter wrote. Who the hell could've intentionally gone to this news outlet and told them what they know about us? Not to mention, I hardly saw Taylor when he was in college; whenever one of us was visiting, it was almost always him. Also, we're not dating.

I feel like pulling my hair out of my head, wishing I could do something about this. If not for me, then for Justin. I don't want him thinking Taylor and I are together, and I most certainly don't want this kind of attention going towards him from anyone else who recognizes me.

I don't bother finishing the day at work - since I'm fired, anyway - so instead I head straight to his place. There has to be something he can do. If he wants to help me so much, now he can.

"Hey," he greets me, standing in the doorway while rubbing his eyes. Having forgotten it's only a little past nine in the morning, I realize that I probably woke him up. Even so, he grins when he sees me. I, on the other hand, have a hard time keeping my eyes on his face, since the only thing he's wearing is the pair of shorts he most likely sleeps in.

"Hi. Um..." I swallow hard, taking in the physical changes on his body since I last saw him like this. His muscles are huge; that's not to say they were ever small, but the man standing in front of me now is certainly very physically different from the boy I knew 5 years ago. "Can I come in?" I do my best to prevent my voice from shaking, but that's not an easy task when he looks like a literal Greek statue, his body sculpted to perfection.

"Yeah, sure," he steps to the side, allowing me to enter his apartment.

"Did I wake you up?" I ask.

"No, I was about to hop in the shower," he answers.

"How's your head?" I question, realizing I was too distracted by his physique to notice the stitches on one of his temples, or the swelling of his busted lip. It's only been a few days since the game, and Justin has been begging me to go see Taylor nonstop, but between my work and his baseball trainings, it's been hard to make time. I've also been kind of scared to see him, because of what happened between the two of us. I don't want him to get the wrong impression.

"Never been better," he responds, and after a second he takes a step towards me, and then another. When he speaks, his voice suddenly gets lower. "Listen, Hayley, I- "

"I have to show you something," I interrupt him, afraid of what he might've said next, and also needing him to tell me we can keep all of the press stuff away from Justin.

"Yeah, okay," he clears his throat.

I walk towards the bar and put the magazine onto it for him to see the article. He loses the nervousness as soon as he notices what's written on it. His eyebrows come together as I watch his eyes glide over the double page. "What is this?"

"Apparently someone saw me comforting you and thought to take a picture and then publish it in a tabloid along with speculation as to whether we're dating or not," I answer sarcastically, still beyond angry about the whole situation. Yes, it's the bread and butter of these kinds of magazines, but that doesn't change the fact that Justin shouldn't have to see or deal with any of this, and he most certainly shouldn't get the idea that Taylor and I are dating into his head.

"Oh, and someone who saw us dating in college said something to the reporter who wrote this," I point to the paragraph I'm talking about. "Any idea who?"

He shakes his head after he reads the few sentences. "I mean, anyone could've noticed us holding hands in public, or something, but I can count the amount of times you visited me there on my right hand. And, except for Shane - the guy who helped you get past security - nobody really knew I had a girlfriend."

"What are we going to do about Justin?" I ask while biting the inside of my mouth, thinking of what this could mean for him if he's spotted with Taylor and people connect the dots, because that's not very hard to do.

"I don't know. These things blow over, though; believe me, these people get bored really quickly," he tells me, only catching half of what I'm worried about.

"And if he catches onto the idea of the two of us being together?" I can't help but feel nervous asking him, since I honestly have no idea what to expect, and a part of me - the one I mostly shut down - has a very unsettling suspicion that that's what he wants.

"Then we'll tell him the truth," he replies, simply.

"And the truth is?"

"The truth is whatever you want it to be," I'm about to question what that's supposed to mean, but he doesn't give me the chance, as he keeps talking. "I'll just talk to Kevin and he'll tell me what to do."

"You told him that we're talking again?" I raise my eyebrows, skeptical of what his reaction to that would be. He did everything in his power to keep us apart back then, so I doubt he could've taken that news well.

"I didn't, but he's definitely aware by now. I bet he's tried to call me today, already; I just haven't checked my phone yet. Where did you see this, anyway? I didn't know you read this kind of stuff."

"I don't. My boss gave it to me this morning, right before he fired me," I answer, matter-of-factly mentioning that I lost my main source of income just moments ago.

"What?" He immediately looks up from the magazine to face me.

"I wasn't supposed to have time off work when you had your game. Not thinking much of it, I just told him Justin was sick and I had to take care of him - since that worked in the past - but, as you can see, he found out I lied," I explain, still not completely having accepted the fact that that diner is no longer tied to me. "All thanks to that stupid magazine."

He looks at me as if I just spoke in a language he doesn't recognize. "What an ass," he exclaims, seeming genuinely angry. "Did you try to argue with him?"

"Not really. He's really not one to change his opinions, and, frankly, I was too taken aback by the tabloid thing to try to keep my job - which, now that I'm thinking about it, probably wasn't the best idea," I say, realizing that I have no idea what I'm going to do. Yes, it's not my only job, but the other ones don't make half as much money as the waitressing did.

"Hey, don't worry," he breathes out as he smiles, his hand reaching under my chin and slightly tilting my head up to his level, "that's his loss. You'll get another job in no time," my - needless to say - very grim mood lightens up at the sight of his grin, and I unconsciously feel the corners of my mouth lifting up. "Or you could just let me do what's supposed to be my job," he adds, innocently.

"No," I answer, "I'm not taking your money, Taylor."

"Come on, at least until you get a new job. I can't stand the thought of you struggling at all, while I have a bank account that could easily secure you for the rest of your life," he begs.

What do I say to that? I can try to bullshit him and myself that I'm not going to miss the income that much and that we'll manage, but the reality is very different. I'm already behind on rent, and that factor just got exponentially worse.

"Please, it would make me feel a lot better," I look to the side, not wanting him to see the battle that's taking place in me right now. Do I need the help? Yes. But if I do this, I only solidify this... whatever kind of relationship we have. I know he's just trying to help me, and would never use this as leverage against me, but it just feels like a step I'm not sure I want to take.

"I promise that this doesn't mean anything, except for me wanting to take care of you and Justin. I'm not trying to get you to... feel differently about me, or anything," he swears.

"Okay," I let my walls down, "yeah, okay. Thank you."

He lets out a breath, as if he was nervous, and smiles widely. "You shouldn't thank me, though. I'm just making up for my fuck up's, something I should've done a long time ago. Oh, I forgot to give you something the last time we talked," he says, catching my attention as he goes to grab something from the kitchen counter. He returns with a small metal object in his hand. A key.

"What's this?" I question, trying to recall if I've ever left my keys at his place.

"A key to this place," he replies, simply.

"Why are you giving me a key to your apartment?"

"Because I think you should have it," he answers, speaking slowly, as if he doesn't understand why I'm even asking him that. "Just take it," he says, right before I'm about to argue with him.

I sigh, taking it from his hand and slipping it into my back pocket along with my own set of keys - deciding that, since he's already done so much for me today, I might as well let him have his way.

\-------------

"At least he's doing something," my mother says, as we walk along the street towards the place where Justin has baseball practice. She wanted to see him, so I figured picking him up with her should be more than enough time for them to spend together, and I'll have an excuse later to leave. I shake my head, having too many inappropriate things to say to that, so I just swallow them. "How much is he even giving you?"

"We haven't talked about it yet," I answer, already exasperated. How I never saw this side of her when I was younger is beyond me.

"What do you mean, you haven't talked about it yet? Don't you think that's kind of an important detail?" She keeps on pushing my buttons.

"It's been two days," I reply, as calmly as possible.

"I never liked him, anyway."

I don't even bother with trying to come up with a reasonable reason for her to say that, as it probably doesn't exist. "I know. So does he; you never made an effort to hide that."

"I hope you're not planning on letting him get close again," she comments, and this time I can sense her trying to be at least a little careful with what she's saying.

"What does that even mean?" I raise my hands in the air in confusion, having a hard time understanding whatever she's trying to imply.

"You know what I mean. I saw the way he was looking at you, and more importantly, the way you were looking at him," she talks to me as if I'm 15 again and got a bad grade at school, "and by the looks of it, it's only a matter of time before the two of you..." she pauses, searching for a word. "How do you kids say it these days? Hook up?"

"Oh, god," I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "Frankly, my relationships are my business, not yours. And no, we're not going to hook up," I mimic her manners.

"You shouldn't even be talking to him," she continues, as if I didn't say anything.

"Oh, so I'm supposed to take his money, but I shouldn't talk to him?"

"He is a player, Hayley," to my discomfort, she raises the volume of her voice.

I laugh sarcastically, finding it hard to believe that even she is that blind to reality. "He is a lot of things, mother, but he's not a player. We were in a relationship for 4 years, and he's hardly dated anyone else since. You cannot possibly be so biased towards him to think that."

She's about to reply when I start talking again. "And are we really not going to talk about the hypocrisy of this again? You're criticizing me for simply talking to the father of my son, when you just got back into a relationship - something I didn't do - with someone who abused you. Abused me," I say, a bit more harshly than I initially intended.

"You never knew Garrett; you've talked to him, like, once," she shoots back, like a child.

"And how many times, exactly, have you talked to Taylor? That time when your boyfriend pushed me through glass - I still have the scars, by the way - was more than enough time spent with that person for a lifetime, for me."

"Well, then it's a good thing he's waiting at Justin's baseball practice for us," she crosses her arms.

I stop in my tracks. "He's what?" That has to be a joke, right? There's absolutely no way she'd do that, when I specifically told her he's not getting anywhere near the kid.

She turns around, surprised that I'm not next to her. "You heard me," my blood boils as I inhale deeply. The thoughts of what that man did to me flood my mind, along with what he could do to a 4-year-old. I doubt that Justin would know any better than to trust a random person who shows up, telling him he knows me.

"He is not getting within a mile range of Justin," I say, through gritted teeth. "And neither are you if you'd allow him to."

"Come on, Hayley, stop being so paranoid. How about you give him a chance? It's been 9 years, after all," she talks as if she's acting like the adult in this situation.

My fingernails are digging so deeply into my palms that I'm surprised I don't feel blood yet. Without saying anything to her, I whip my phone out from my back pocket and start searching the contacts list.

"What are you doing?" My mother asks, annoyed.

"I'm calling Taylor," I answer, for some reason being unable to find his name in my contact list.

She breathes out, tapping her foot as her hands come onto her hips. But it's too late. Shivers - and most certainly not the good kind - run through my body, as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the sight of him. Garrett. He's coming over with a smile. A fucking smile. The only good thing right now is the fact that Justin still has 10 minutes to go until his practice ends. I didn't realize we were this close to the baseball field.

"Hey," he says, and my mother turns around, greeting him with a kiss. Not bothering to hide the repulsion I know's written all over my face, I take a step back, surprising even myself with just how much my heart rate accelerates in his presence. I know he's not going to do anything in a public place in bright daylight, but that doesn't stop the shaking in my hands.

"Hayley, why don't you show that you still have some manners?" My mother talks again, and I react by trying to rub out the headache I feel starting from my temples, despite knowing my attempts are going to be unsuccessful.

"Look, I know we started off on the wrong foot-" Garrett steps forward, and I put the distance right back in between us.

"This is unreal," I say under my breath, and start walking past them. My mother calls out behind me, and I'm pretty sure she's already running after me. I turn around and go backwards for a moment to get the chance to react to her yells and attempts at stopping me. "You've officially lost your mind, mother. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do anymore. I give up."

\--------

"I saw Garrett today," I say, my voice small, as Taylor sits across from me. I've found myself in his apartment yet again, this time to talk about the money thing, which I definitely haven't been anticipating. He stops what he's doing, his back straightening as tension fills his body. "I was going to pick Justin up from baseball practice with my mother, because she kept blowing up my phone asking about when she'd get to see him, and then she just sprung the fact that she told Garrett to be there, too."

He clears his throat. "So she was going to let him be around Justin?"

I nod. "I don't even think that's her only goal. I think she wants us to be like one big happy family. A - hopefully ex - drug addict, a criminal, a 4-year-old, and me. Now, doesn't that just sound great?" I say, sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, but if I'm ever around him again, I doubt I'll be able to control myself," he responds, his jaw clenched tightly. I was expecting his reaction to be a bit more explosive, to be completely honest, but he does seem to be holding a lot of it in. "Are you okay?" His tone immediately softens.

"I'm-" I stop, since I don't even really know what I'm feeling. It's not like that day is the source of my nightmares anymore - and that's not to say it ever really was, since I still don't have much of a recollection as to what even happened in the first place - but being around him scares me more than I'm willing to admit. "I think so."

"He didn't get to Justin, though, did he?"

"No," I shake my head. "I just sort of walked away, which somehow worked."

He looks like he's about to continue when his ringtone prevents him from saying whatever he wanted to say. "I gotta take this," he mutters when he checks it, getting up from the table and walking away.

After 5 minutes of him not coming back, I decided it'd be a good idea to go check on him. As I make my way through the place, I hear some muffled noises, only to find Taylor taking - although I don't think the word screaming is an overstatement - into his phone. When he notices me, I see the rage in his eyes, and I realize something has to be wrong.

He puts his phone away, and in a few steps he's standing right in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. "Did you tell Kevin you were pregnant?" His question sounds more like a demand.

"What?" I frown, not really getting what he's asking me.

"When you found out you were going to have Justin. Did you call Kevin and tell him you were pregnant?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Oh my God," Taylor's hands go into his hair as he paces the hall of his apartment.

"Taylor, what's going on?" I ask, beyond confused by his behavior.

He's breathing heavily as he looks at the wall before facing me. "What exactly did you talk about, and what did he say?"

"Well, when I couldn't reach you, I tried calling him. Whenever I'd say I needed to talk to you - like, really needed to talk to you - he'd just say you didn't want to hear from me, and that I should leave you alone. So, one time - the last time I called - I told him I was pregnant, and he just said the same thing he always did: that you didn't want to hear from me. I figured that whether he told you about the pregnancy or not didn't matter, since you weren't even enough of a man to make 5 minutes of time for someone you were together with for so long."

"So he knew," Taylor states, and I confirm. It never crossed my mind to ask about the manager - since, frankly, I don't think about him much. I never connected the dots that he kept this information from his most successful client. "That motherfucker knew I had a kid and kept it from me," Taylor punches the wall so forcefully I swear I can almost feel something in the building's construction move.

"Fuck, Hayley, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"I know, you've made that clear since the beginning," I let him know. I'll never be over the cheating, but he's definitely making it up to me, and, most importantly, to Justin.

"No, you don't get it. I didn't chase you across Portland when I saw you waitressing just because I was curious," I notice him getting closer. He's taking short steps, but they're definitely noticeable after a while. "I've made mistakes. I've made massive, heart breaking mistakes. But just because I let you go... doesn't mean I let you go."

"What are you trying to say?" My voice is shaking as I ask him the question. My defenses are on high alert and screaming at me to move, to do something, but my feet feel like they're nailed to the ground, and I can't move a muscle.

He gets closer again, and this time he's not trying to be subtle. "I mean... I love you." The world slows down around me, and the only thing I can focus on are his eyes and the incredible intensity in them, letting me see that he's not lying one bit. "I've loved you since the first time I saw you, when I was 15; I've never stopped. I tried to convince myself that I could just forget about you, but it was only when I saw you again that I realized how much of a lie that is. I've thought about you every single day since we said goodbye. Every good thing that happened to me couldn't make me happy, because I couldn't share it with you."

"This can't happen, Taylor," I can hardly breathe, being affected by his close proximity.

"Yes it can," he replies, quickly. "It feels right - you know it does." I can't allow myself to think about his statement, because I'm afraid I'll come to the conclusion that he's right.

"You just don't get it, Taylor. There is no moving forward because I can't forgive you!"

The next thing I know, he's in front of me, grabbing my face in his hands. "There has to be, because I love you so fucking much." The raw emotion in his eyes and voice tears at me. "I know you love me, Hayley. I know I'm not alone in this. We're the real fucking deal. Our love is what most people spend a lifetime searching for and never find. Don't throw us away, please."

"I didn't throw us away," I whisper, brokenly. "You did."

He's silent as he towers over me, his heavy breathing almost as loud as my heartbeat. "How can I fix this? There has to be a way for me to fix this. Please, Hayles."

"I should get going," I say after a while, needing to get out of this situation desperately. He takes a moment, and then, to my relief, steps away.

"When will I see you again?" He asks, before I get the chance to leave.

I stop in my tracks, not having an answer, that topic being the last thing I want to be thinking about right now. It's only now occurring to me how everything I told myself I had to do, I did wrong. I've subconsciously been letting myself fall back into what we used to be in a different world, years ago. I've been letting him in, not even realizing I was doing it, call it old habits, maybe. Somehow he got through every wall I built, and I didn't stop him, even though I most certainly should've. I let him, because I was being selfish. That stops now.

Space. I need space. "I don't know. I'll call you," I answer, hoping he'll just take it, even though he's probably just as aware as I am that I have no intent on following up on that promise.

"Can I get something more specific?" Of course he won't let it go.

I keep my gaze trained on the ground, not sure how to approach what I'm about to say. "Maybe we should... not see each other for a while," I finish. Impatiently anticipating his reaction, I finally get the courage to look him in the eyes, only to find that his face is yet again unreadable - a fact he's most definitely aware of.

"You want me to stay away," he says, his tone neutral.

"I want space. I need to think about everything, and I can't do that when you're doing what you just did. I promised myself I wouldn't let myself get close to you again, and I have failed miserably. Not to mention that what I want or don't want comes second to what's best for Justin, and-"

"And me not being in Justin's life is better for him than him actually having a dad?" His voice raises, the emotions he's suppressing finally forcing their way to the surface.

"No, but you leaving would hurt him more than you can imagine."

"That's what this is about? You still don't trust me? I bought this apartment the day I saw you, I'm not playing this season... what else do you need me to do to prove to you that I have no desire to leave?" He waves his arms around as he speaks, probably just as frustrated as I am.

"You can't. There's nothing you can do or say to convince me; not that I can think of. How many times do I have to say that?" I argue back, wondering just how many more times I'll have to say this for him to finally get it.

"Are you ever going to stop pushing me away?" His voice softens, as does his face. I look around, wanting to do anything but look him in the face, since I doubt I could handle that right now. Am I? Am I ever going to be able to look past everything that's happened? I want to think I could, I really do. But are the trust issues, the scars from what happened, too deep?

I shake my head, realizing it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because Justin is what matters; he has to be, and he will always - under any circumstances - come first.

"I don't know," I whisper.

"So you want me to leave? Is that it?" His question pierces through me. Of course I don't want him to leave, but I think I should - like I said, for Justin's sake. All I know is that right now, in this very moment, I can't be a hundred percent sure whether he's going to stay or not, given the fact that our history and my son's happiness isn't something I can gamble on.

"I don't know, T. I just know that, deep down, I don't trust you. I can't, even if I wanted to. Right now I need space and time," I answer, wanting more than anything to go now, as I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to handle this, how much longer my heart will be able to handle this.

I tilt my head to the side at the sight of him motionless, standing in the middle of his apartment, his fists clenched at his sides, clearly hurting. "I'm sorry, but that's how I feel," I try to offer some kind of a consolation, but it doesn't seem to have worked. So, without another word, I turn around and leave.

The next day passes by incredibly slowly, as I make use of my time by scrolling through job offers online. That's good, because, first, I need money, and second, it keeps my mind from thinking about Taylor. I know it's not the healthiest way to deal with this by any means, but shutting it out and not thinking about it at all seems to be the only way I know to handle it.

Ever since yesterday, I've basically gone through every single restaurant, diner, and cafe in all of Portland, only to find that none of them are interested. I've also learned a 10 page Mozart concerto by memory on the piano, and just basically done anything and everything I can to keep myself busy.

Closing the last tab - yet again unsuccessful, after reading the 'not hiring help' part - I go to look over the mail that came today, another thing I've been dreading. I skim through the usual bills for water, electricity, and other life expenses unfazed, but then my eyes land on the ever so familiar envelope my rent bill comes in every month.

Taking a breath, I open it, knowing I'll have a very hard time coming up with the money to pay for it this month, let alone the month after that. I can't talk about this with Taylor anymore, either, and I especially can't ask him to pay for anything after the conversation we had.

I frown as I look over the paper, as it looks different than the cookie cutter document I'm used to getting. I start reading, needing to find out what's happened, and my breath hitches in my throat as I read the third line - the one that says that the rent has already been paid. For two years in advance. My eyes go over the words even faster, being convinced that this has to be a misunderstanding, since I haven't paid anything yet.

And then I see it. Taylor's name is next to the payment, and so is his address. He must've done this right after we talked when I lost my job a few days ago, since I wouldn't've gotten the letter fast enough if he hadn't. Or had he sent the money even before that?

Without a second thought, I reach for my phone to call my landlord.

"Hi, do you think you could tell me about the last rent payment that was sent for my apartment?" I ask hurriedly, needing to know the answer for some reason.

"I'm sorry, who is this?" The person on the other side asks, reminding me that he has no way of knowing who just called him.

"Hayley Williams. I rent apartment 204 in your building," I answer.

"Ah, yes," he says after a moment of silence, during which I was convinced he had quit the call, since it might as well have been an hour that passed, as far as I know. "The last payment was made by a Mr. York, for two years in advance, so you don't have to worry about anything for a good while."

"But when was the payment made?" I continue my interrogation, as if that question should've been obvious to him, and I shouldn't even have had to say it.

"The 11th," he replies, shortly.

"Thanks," I say, quitting the call once I'm done doing the math, although I'm pretty sure the guy was going to say something else.

That was a week ago, way before any of this had even happened. I want to be mad at him for, yet again, doing things that very directly affect me without him saying a single word to me about it, but I can't; not when his intentions are as pure as they are. But then again, haven't his intentions always been like this? Have I been blinded by the pain so much that I haven't seen that yet?

"Come on, get it together," I whisper to myself, trying to deal with the thousands of emotions I'm going through right now, attempting to drown out the parts of me that desperately want to forgive him, that desperately want him in my life. In the beginning I did a very good job of that, but it's progressively been getting harder. Now I can't do it anymore. There's too much, too many things that have happened, that he's done, to shut that part of me up.

I've rationalized keeping my distance from him with Justin's happiness, but out of the fear of him leaving again, I've been doing exactly what I was afraid he'd do if I were to let him in. I've always let my heart make decisions when I didn't know what to do - I listened to it when Taylor and I kissed for the first time, when I found out I was pregnant, and right now its message is as clear as it's ever been. It's longing, aching, for Taylor.

Dropping the paper on the floor, I go towards the door I entered through only moments ago, and without a second thought, I drive to Taylor's place. I run through the building, taking the stairs two at a time so that I get there as fast as possible. Approaching his door, I search for the key he gave me a few days ago, now much more appreciative of it than I was when I first got it, preparing it in case he doesn't answer.

I urgently knock once, twice, and then a third time, but still get no answer.

"Taylor," I say his name loud enough for him to hear it, even if he's far from the entrance. When I still get no answer, I use the key, jamming it into the lock with more force than needed.

I call his name out one more time, my voice echoing through the apartment, but the only one who seems to hear it still remains to be only me. The place looks different than it did a few days ago, though - it feels empty, somehow. The echoes are more apparent than they were before. And then it clicks. It doesn't just feel empty; it is empty.

I walk over to the fridge and open it, only to find nothing but two sodas inside, meaning that, unless he gets take out every day - which I know very well he doesn't - he hasn't been here for a good while.

The apartment was never very full to begin with, since he hadn't lived here long enough for it to be, but as I keep walking around it, I notice more and more things missing, one of which being his signature 'clothes lying all over the floor' thing. My heart starts beating faster, and I can feel my breathing pattern speed up, as the scary reasons that are a justification for his absence start forming in my head.

I quickly rush to his bedroom to find his bed neatly made, but, as expected, utterly empty. Checking the closet, I find only a few tshirts inside, but what really scares me is the fact that the space where his hockey stuff used to be is hollow, with no signs of his gloves, the orange jersey, or the shoulder pads anywhere.

"Hello?" A voice calls out from somewhere.

My head shoots up at the sound, feeling relief washing over me that he's not gone. Not thinking about it, I run through the apartment, getting ready to tell him all the things I wanted to say before.

"Taylor," I breathe out his name, unable to wash the grin off my face. His head is down with his back to me, but when I say his name he quickly turns around, at which moment my body goes completely still, and I feel like I can't move.

It's not him.

"You scared the shit out of me," Taylor's teammate - the one who helped me at the hockey game - says with a chuckle. "I was about to call the cops, since the front door was open when I got here."

"Where's Taylor?" I question, trying to suppress the disappointment spreading through me as a result of his absence.

He looks at me with a puzzled look, as something flashes in his eyes. "You don't know? He didn't tell you?" He asks. I frown, as I have no idea what he's talking about, and his lips become a thin line as I shake my head in response. "He left."

"What do you mean, 'he left?'" I raise my voice as I speak, attempting to make sense of the situation. He wouldn't've left without telling me, right? But, then again, that's exactly what I told him to do; I told him that that's what I wanted. Not directly, but I told him I wanted him to stay away, and now - for the first time in my life - he actually listened to something I said. Of course it happened at the worst time possible.

"You should probably talk to him, yourself. He didn't say much, just that he was going to Nashville. I'm here to get some stuff of his that he forgot here," he answers, providing little information.

"For how long?"

He gives me a sad smile, and it's clear he feels sorry for me. "Like I said; you should probably ask him yourself."

I nod, realizing he knows almost as little as I do. I replay the last conversation I shared with Taylor. Had I really said enough to make him pack his things and go? I don't even have to rack my brain for the answer, since I already have it - apparently yes. I shouldn't be surprised - after all, it's in his nature.  
  
  


_8 years ago_

_"This is the worst idea I've ever had," I proclaim, exasperatedly putting the glue and the two halves of a sphere made out of foam back on the table. I've been trying to make them stay together for the past 30 minutes and, even though my attempts were very persistent, came out unsuccessful._

_"No, it's not," Justin says with a chuckle, as always finding amusement in my suffering. "Picking Taylor as your partner for this is the worst idea you've ever had, this is second to that," he says seemingly giving up just like me as he throws the scissors on the stack of papers we're hopefully, if we even get that far, going to use to write the text part of the science project on._

_"He said he would be here," I argue, having a very hard time defending Taylor given how much glue ended up on my hands and not on the foam that was supposed to be Jupiter._

_"And is he? As if you haven't known him for over a year now. He hates science, forgets things and is almost always late. How does him not showing up to do the project in any way shape or form surprise you?" he asks._

_He might have a point there. I talked to Taylor yesterday and we said we'd work on the project today in the evening, but two hours after our agreed time he's nowhere to be found. Luckily for me though, his brother Justin decided to help me in place of my boyfriend, very likely saving this assignment, since I would've given up had I been alone to do this and there's also the fact that the only thing I successfully contributed to our model of the solar system is painting Mars an orangey red color._

_"I guess it doesn't," I answer. "How do you have the time to help me though? Aren't you supposed to be in college at this very moment?"_

_He looks around the room, checking the door as well as outside the window for some reason. "Okay don't tell anyone," he says in a lowered voice "only Taylor knows, but I dropped out."_

_"What?" I whisper-shout, although there's no point since there's nobody else in the house except for us. "What do you mean?" I was expecting him to say a lot of things, but not that. He's always made it clear that he doesn't particularly enjoy college, but dropping out seems a little drastic._

_"I didn't enroll at the beginning of this year," he replies simply._

_"Why?" I question._

_"Because I was studying business, Hayley," he tells me as if that explains why he decided to drop out._

_"Yeah, I know. You can make a lot of money if you study business," I argue._

_"I hated it. It was so incredibly boring I couldn't bear to spend more time there. I don't really care about how much money I make, but there's no way I'll make it by doing business," he says, all jokes aside._

_"So what are you going to do?" I ask worriedly. It's going to be quite hard to make a living without a college degree, one that he'll enjoy at least._

_"I'll wait for you to become some hotshot pianist, graduate Julliard and get me a gig playing guitar, obviously," he jokes and despite the seriousness of his situation makes me giggle._

_"Yeah right. I'd never get into a school like Julliard," I reply skeptically. I'm not bad at piano, but that place has never been in the cards for me._

_"Uh, yes you would," he says sounding a hundred percent convinced. I shoot him look, trying to decode if he's actually serious. "I mean it, blondie. I've heard you play and as a bit of a musician myself I think I'm in a pretty good place to judge."_

_"Well that's very nice of you," I say, appreciating the faith he has in me but not convinced of his opinion "but I respectfully disagree."_

_"Mark my words Hayles. You'll be moving to New York in less than two years," he picks up the scissors and continues doing the work that was supposed to be done by his brother. Not having an answer, I take the glue and continue my attempts of creating Jupiter._

_Justin's last comment makes me wonder though. What if Taylor and I don't go to the same college? Would we make it work? I certainly hope so. I haven't dated anyone else, but we've been together for almost a year now and the only thing I'm certain of is that I don't ever want to be with someone else._

_I haven't even really thought about what I want to study. I'd love to pursue music, but that's a very risky move. I know I should start thinking about that since my 17th birthday is approaching faster than I'd like it to, but anytime the thought crossed my mind I pushed it away, thinking Taylor and I would figure something out. But I never considered the option where the two of us aren't together._ And I won't have to _, I try to convince myself._

_About three hours and eight planets plus one star later I hear the front door unlock and close a second after._

_"5 dollars he's drunk," Justin bets, awaiting his brother's return._

_"He doesn't drink," I reply, knowing full well Taylor doesn't drink because when he's drunk he says things he later regrets, since his only kind of drunk is mean drunk._

_"That's what you think," Justin replies with a mischievous grin at which I only shake my head._

_We're both quiet while Taylor's going up the stairs, trying not to reveal anyone's here. He enters his room and throws his sports bag on the bed, still not having looked to the other side of the room, therefore unaware of mine or his brother's presence._

_"Hi," Justin says enthusiastically with a huge smile on his face._

_"Jeez!" Taylor exclaims after jumping from being surprised. "You scared the shit out of me. What are you even doing here?"_

_"See that's not the question you should be asking," Justin replies right back, his eyes squinted. "What you should be asking is how come your girlfriend is in your room and you don't know about it," he says, pointing to Taylor with Neptune, unaware of the fact that the blue paint hasn't dried yet._

_"What the hell are you even talking about?" Taylor lets out, clearly annoyed with his brother, who's too busy to reply because he's looking for napkins to wipe the paint off his hands. "And why are your hands blue?"_

_"The science project, Taylor, the one that's due tomorrow. You were supposed to do it with me today, remember?" I chime into the conversation when I realize Justin is too busy with cleaning his hands to reply._

_I watch his face slowly change when he realizes the reality of the situation as his jaw drops slightly. "Oh shit," he says, "I completely forgot. I stayed back after practice and got some more time on the ice. I'm so sorry," he blurts out. "I set a reminder, but my phone died so it obviously didn't go off."_

_"Oh she's not the one you should be apologizing to," Justin speaks just as I'm opening my mouth to tell Taylor I don't really mind - I wasn't really counting with him contributing much anyway. He might know his way with a hockey stick, but not with glue and scissors. "I'm the one who suffered the most here. Hayles was going to do the project either way but me - I wasn't going to have to do anything," he says and it's hard to take him seriously while he's going through the third napkin in his attempt to get rid of the paint, that's, to his dismay, slowly drying and the fact that there's small pieces of paper in his hair certainly doesn't help either._

_"College dropouts living with their parents who have no job usually don't have to do anything, Justin," Taylor replies sarcastically._

_"Very funny," the older brother says unamused while getting up off the chair and walking towards the door. "Well you two sort it out, I'll go wash this damn paint off." He disappears, but one second later peeks his head back into the room. "Oh and Hayley, just in case, if you're planning on using weapons he keeps a baseball bat in his closet."_

_"You do?" I ask, not quite sure what the reasoning for him having a baseball bat in his room would be._

_"Yeah, I used to play baseball a lot when I was younger," he answers, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sorry, I know you were counting on me, I swear I set a reminder, if only my phone hadn't died," he trails off as he goes to sit down next to me._

_"It's okay, it's not like it really matters since you don't care about your grade and Mr. Johnson thinks I'm a science prodigy, so I'll get an A either way. What took you so long?"_

_"Everyone left after practice and I didn't really feel tired yet, so I stayed back and worked on my top corner shot for the most part. Not that it's not already really good." I can't help but chuckle to myself, knowing the last sentence was him only partially trying to joke around and lean in to kiss him._

_"Ew," Justin practically screams and I quickly detach myself from Taylor to see his brother standing in the doorway with a disgusted look. "I came here to get my phone, not nightmare material," he says while picking the device up from the cabinet with his now clean hand and disappears again, while both Taylor and I can't hold the laughter in._

_"So anyway," he begins "did you finish the assignment?" he asks innocently and I can tell he's hoping I'll confirm his suspicion so that he doesn't have to do anything._

_"Yes, we did," I reply "your brother helped a lot, you owe him for your grade."_

_"Nah, I've been doing his chores for him since I was 13, the only person I owe is you."_

_"Oh," I say with a smile creeping on my face "how are you going to repay me then?"_

_"Uh," he looks away for a second "I'll do the next project we have by myself?" he questions hesitantly._

_I laugh. "Well first of all - no you won't, you know that as well as I do. And second - if you think I'm picking you as my partner again for anything else after what you pulled today, you're crazy."_

_"I would argue but that sounds pretty fair actually."_

_"How long have you know about Justin dropping out of college?" I question while walking over to the bed and laying down on it._

_"Only a few days. I'm not surprised though, he hated that place so much," he replies and lays down next to me, the scent of his shampoo hitting me._

_"It got me thinking," I begin. "Where do you want to go to college?"_

_I turn my head to the side to be able to talk to him better. "I think I'll just wait and see who offers the best scholarship. Why?"_

_"What if we study far apart from each other?" I ask nervously._

_"You're going to study music right?" he looks at me and it's probably the unsure expression on my face that informs him about my opinion of my musical talent. "And don't say you don't think you have it in you. Look, I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty good at hockey if I do say so myself so I'm counting on getting multiple scholarships. I'll just pick the school closest to yours." I smile while running my hand through his hair, warmth spreading through my body, still amazed at how he's able to make me feel better about the scariest things._

_"I'm probably going to get drafted a few years into college anyway, so it's not that important," he continues._

_"Wait, but what if you get an offer from a Canadian team or something?" I shoot back, suddenly dissatisfied with his answer again._

_"Then I'll decline it."_

_"What if it's going to be a really good offer that you won't be able to decline? What if you get an offer from an NHL club and it's across the states from where I am?"_

_"Hayley," he says my name and takes my hand in his "everything's going to work out, okay? We're not even 17 yet, just be a teenager and not worry about anything while you still can."_


	9. eight

3 months later

I'm looking through what feels like the fiftieth potential workplace on my phone as I wait for Justin to get out of pre-school when a random headline, unfortunately, catches my eye. ' _Taylor York makes one helluva comeback into the hockey world'_ , I read the words and try not to bite my lip too hard.

It's been about 3 months since he's been gone, and I haven't gotten one phone call. I haven't heard a single word from him since I told him I needed space, which he took as me telling him to leave and never come back. Talk about overreacting. At least he confirmed my suspicions, although something's telling me I'm not as happy about that as I want to convince myself I am.

At least I didn't let myself get attached the way I had before, at least I protected Justin from the heartbreak - not entirely, but he'll get over it. The worst part is that I think I believed him when he said he wouldn't leave. If he had been there when I went to his apartment that day, I'm pretty sure I would have let him in. I'm just glad I opened my eyes before it was too late. Or did I?

If I did, then why do I feel this pain in my chest every time I see his facial features in Justin's face, or every time I hear his laugh instead of the boy's? Why does everything and anything I do have to remind me of him, just like it did when we broke up all those years ago?

I can't decide between being sad and incredibly, indescribably angry. All the big talk and convincing me for this sorry excuse of him 'doing what I wanted', which I have no doubt he rationalized his absence with. Or maybe he realized he didn't actually love me as much as he tried to convince me he did; wouldn't be the first time. Or maybe he just decided that being a parent was too much work and he couldn't handle it, something I warned him about - who knows at this point, anymore?

None of this stops my index finger from tapping on the article, though.

_'Taylor York, former left-wing for the Nashville Predators, has had a rocky journey to get back on the ice this year. After miraculously surviving the horrific accident that sent the young player into a coma last year, the hockey world doubted he'd ever be able to move properly, much less get back to playing the game, based off the doctor's diagnosis that was not good._

_But York was not about to give up easily. He worked to get in shape and made his first appearance in a friendly match almost five months ago. His announced participation stirred conversation about him returning so soon, but the number 26 did not play bad at all, especially during the third period. However, the man just couldn't catch a break as he couldn't finish the game because of a pretty nasty fall._

_Almost half a year later, though, the world finally got to see that the talent this guy has has not disappeared - not in the slightest. When the Nashville Predators' most productive left-wing sprained his ankle during practice, Taylor York was somehow in the area, despite having told a few of our sources that he was going to move to Portland._

_The team's coach, having known York for many years at that point from before the accident, took a chance on the player and it most certainly paid off. The Preds ended with a whopping 8 to 1 against the Dallas Stars. York would've gotten 5 points for that match since he scored 3 times and got 2 assists, but he hasn't yet officially signed a new contract with the Predators, so, unfortunately, this performance won't show up in his stats. However, there's no doubt that after that game, his former team won't hesitate to take him back.'_

There's a video of the highlights from the game linked under the article, but I turn the screen of my phone black before I even have the time to consider clicking on it. Too many questions are popping up in my head. What the hell did they mean by 'despite telling people that he was going to move to Portland'? Why is he back playing hockey again? I very vividly remember him saying that he wasn't playing this season, and yet, here he is; another lie to add to the list.

My thought train is interrupted by Justin's face, greeting me as he comes towards the car with a huge smile. I get out of the vehicle and go help him into his seat.

"Hi," he says cheerfully.

"What are you so happy about?" I ask the kid, my mood immediately lightening in his presence.

"Did you know about Taylor playing in that game? Ryan's dad watches hockey, and he told me about how Taylor totally won the game for his team. Isn't it awesome?" He exclaims excitedly, and I have to fight everything in me not to flinch.

"Yeah, I heard," I answer when I'm done fastening him into his seat and walk to the driver's side of the car, doing my best to sound enthusiastic, but failing miserably.

"Where is he?" He asks with his childlike innocence, and it feels like his tiny hand is squeezing my heart. "He told me he'd go baseball batting with me, but that was like half a year ago," I take a shaky breath, realizing I can't put this off any longer. I have to tell him Taylor's not coming back. I knew this would eventually happen the second he showed up at my doorstep, but it's still terrifying.

"It's been 2 months, Justin, not 6. Look, truth is..." I begin, but trail off. What the hell is the truth in this case? He's 4, I can't tell him that Taylor just up and left. I don't enjoy lying to him at all, but I'm out of options. "Taylor has to focus on hockey right now. His team needs him, and he can't be here and in Nashville at the same time," I turn to the back seat to see what he's thinking. Maybe he won't have to find out the truth at all. Maybe, in a few years, he won't even remember Taylor anymore. I can only hope.

I can tell he's let down, as his small hand clutches at the door handle that thankfully has a baby lock on. "And he wouldn't even tell me?" he questions, already poking holes into my lies.

"He wanted to, but he needed to go practice with his friends so that they'd be ready to play this season. He told me to say hi to you," I tell him, and to my relief, he seems satisfied. Hopefully, he'll just forget about everything as he gets older, and will never have to go through the pain.

"Well, if he can't come here, we can go see him, right? How about on Halloween or Thanksgiving?" He says, getting excited about the idea as he speaks.

"I think we should let him focus on himself right now," I reply, desperately needing to think about anything but Taylor right now.

"But, mom," he whines.

"Justin," I snap at him, not being in the mood to argue, but then regretting what I've done once I see him flinch. "Look, he has some important games coming up and wouldn't be able to spend time with you, anyway. Maybe sometime later. We're getting lunch with Jay, by the way," I add.

"Why with him?" He asks, already getting into his sulking position.

"Because he's my friend. Why do you dislike him so much? He's always tried to be so nice to you," I question, trying to understand Justin's dislike for someone a boy like him should find cool. Jay does own a gun, after all.

"That's the thing; he tries too hard. Taylor's way better," he mutters the last part, but it's loud enough for me to hear him.

"Enough about Taylor," I raise my voice again, getting tired of hearing his name. "Just be nice to Jay. Give him a chance."

Justin keeps quiet during the rest of the drive, but I can tell he wants to say something. I guess I was rough enough for him to think twice about voicing his thoughts, which is something I'm glad he's learning, since the boy does lack a filter sometimes.

"Hey," I greet my friend.

"Hi," he replies with a wide smile and goes on to hug me. I've missed seeing a friendly face that didn't look like Taylor's but also wouldn't bombard me with questions, like Ashley has the habit of doing.

"What's up, little man?" He bends down to Justin's height, who looks like he's pretending to not even be in the building, and ruffles his hair.

"Hey," he replies unenthusiastically, which is more than Jay's used to getting from him, so so far, so good.

"How've you been?" He asks when we sit down at our booth.

"Pretty good," I lie. I've been a lot of things, but I doubt good is one of them.

"It's been a long while since I saw you last. Ever since your work schedule changed, I don't run into you nearly as much as I used to," he comments. I laugh internally at him saying that my work schedule changed instead of just saying that I got fired. Very smooth.

"Yeah, I've been busy," I reply. I haven't really been busy - the opposite, actually. I hardly have anything to do these days, which has had some positive effects on my life, such as the fact that, with this new free time, I started playing the piano almost as much as I used to. I just didn't feel like explaining why I haven't felt the need to leave my apartment.

"We've been swarmed at the station," he starts talking about his job without me asking him. "Ever since I got that promotion, things have been crazy, you have no idea," he chuckles, and I force a smile.

"What about you, kid?" Jay asks Justin after ordering our food and engaging in a good while of small talk. "You got any baseball tournaments coming up?"

"We're going on a trip in a few days," he replies, showing zero signs of interest in keeping the conversation going.

"Yeah? What kind?" He grins, but the kid is much more enticed by his fries.

"They're going to the coast for a week," I try to save the situation and reply instead of Justin.

"Isn't he a little young to be spending a week away?" Jay questions, now completely resigned at getting the kid to focus on him and looking to me for the answer.

"That's what I said, too, but he's persistent," I agree, happy someone shares my opinion.

"Just like his mother," he says under his breath. "Do you wanna do something when he's away? So that you don't have to be alone the entire week? We could go see a movie or something; whatever you want. I miss hanging out with you," he offers, and inches toward me, so I absentmindedly move away.

"Um," I stall the moment, attempting to come up with a good way to turn him down. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I'll have time."

He frowns at me, wordlessly calling me out on my bullshit. "Come on, Hayley, it's been so long since we've done something together," he says, trying to convince me, and I have to look away since I have no reason to refuse him. And maybe I shouldn't. My social life has been basically non-existent ever since I had Justin, so this is a good thing.

"Okay, sure," I reply, convincing myself that this is a good idea. A voice in the back of my mind reminds me of Taylor again, just like it has for the past two months, but I shut it down. It's over, I don't know why I ever thought otherwise. He's not coming back – if he was, he would've done it already, and, above everything, I need to move on. I'm not going to trick myself into believing I can forget everything that happened, but accepting it and moving past it seems like a good thing to do.

Justin leaves for the trip two days later, and it's needless to say that I have a hard time dealing with the fact that, for the first time in his life, he's going to be spending that amount of time away from me. I initially wasn't going to let him go, but the constant begging made it impossible for me to refuse, since my mind's been too preoccupied with Taylor stuff.

That evening I meet Jay to go see a movie. I told him to pick what we're watching, since I don't really care either way — I just want to get out of my apartment and stop thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about.

"You look great," he comments on my looks as we get out of his car and near the cinema.

"Thanks," I reply with a nervous laugh. I made the effort to put on some make-up and clothes that are a little nicer than usual, since I'm officially looking forward and leaving the past behind.

"Justin left this morning, right?" He asks, and I already have the feeling that we're not going to take the conversation past small talk tonight. I'm not very bothered, though; I've learned not to expect much else from him. That was never the case whenever I talked to Taylor. One of the first conversations we ever had was an hour-long discussion about whether not liking pets makes you a bad person or not, which it obviously does.

Damn it, I'm doing it again. Bringing him up into everything is probably a habit that'll take a long time to break.

"Yeah," I answer after I mentally curse at myself, as we enter the building and the smell of popcorn and cheap soda hits me.

"How are you feeling?" He questions. "About him leaving," he adds when I look at him, squinting my eyes.

"It feels a little strange, to be honest. He's never been gone, it seems like yesterday that I had him," I trail off when I realize I'm about to go down memory lane, which isn't something I'm in the mood for.

"Are you planning on going back to college when he's an adult?" He asks after we buy our tickets for some random action movie he picked, and my small talk theory about tonight starts to crumble. The question catches me off guard, though. Number one, because we don't usually talk about anything not surface level, and number two, because that's not something I've ever thought about, as hard to believe as that might be.

"I don't think so," I reply, looking at my feet. "I'll be 38 by the time he's 18, so that's probably never gonna happen."

"You gotta marry someone rich, then," he shoots back with a grin, and I give him an uneasy laugh, doing my best not to think about where my mind is going right now, which is the dreaded place of thinking about Taylor. He definitely qualifies as rich, that's for sure.

"Row B seats 11 and 12," Jay breaks my train of thought and I sigh, realizing I let myself go there again.

Not being interested in the movie, I can't stop thinking about what Jay asked me. What will I do when Justin gets older? I've been too busy raising him to ever imagine a world where that's no longer a responsibility for me.

I'm never going to get back to Julliard, that's for sure. I doubt I'd even want to do so by the time it'd be possible, which wouldn't be for at least another 15 years. But being a waitress or someone's secretary for the rest of my life also doesn't seem at all appealing.

Jay's hand on my thigh brings my attention back to reality. I look around the cinema to see everyone's left already, and then look back to his hand, moving slightly away.

"You zoned out there. I didn't think you'd enjoy the movie so much."

I stand up and brush my clothes down. "Yeah," I say with a nervous chuckle. I'm pretty sure I passed out about a third into the film, but I don't mention that to him.

"I had a really good time tonight," he says when he stops at the door to his apartment, mine being just a few feet from his.

"Me too," I reply, trying to sound convincing. It's not that I'm not glad I got to go out, but Jay isn't someone I can talk to about anything else than his job or insignificant things, neither of which interest me. In the back of my mind, I might've been hoping that tonight would've changed my mind about this, but it obviously hadn't.

His hand caresses my cheek, and before I have the time to do anything, his lips are on mine. I panic and push into his chest, breaking the contact as soon as possible.

"Why would you do that?" I ask, after I've had enough time to compose myself.

"What do you mean? It's been a while, but I didn't think I wasn't allowed to kiss you anymore," he's looking at me defensively, as if I've said something to offend him.

I frown at him referring to our former friends-with-benefits relationship. "It's been almost half a year, Jay. Things have changed," I answer slowly.

"Whatever," he mumbles, and fumbles with the keys to his place for a second before finally managing to open the door and disappear.

Was that the only reason he wanted to hang out tonight? It's been so long that I forgot that was even something in our past, but he obviously hasn't.

I'm about ready to drop dead into my bed when I walk into my apartment a few seconds later, but the familiar sound of my ringtone prevents me from doing that.

"Hello?" I say.

"Am I speaking to Cristi Williams?" The man on the other side asks.

"I'm her daughter," I answer slowly, having a hard time thinking of a situation in which someone looking for my mother would have my phone number.

"Great. In that case, I'm guessing your father was Joey Williams, is that correct?"

"Yeah," I trail off, the confusion rising. I have not heard anyone say my dad's name in years.

"I'm calling about some property left in your father's name. Given your mother had re-married after his death, it passes onto you," he's about to continue, but I interrupt him.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" I question. We weren't broke, but we certainly didn't have money to spare, so there's no way any property would be left in his name. Not to mention, we would've heard about this right after he died, not almost 10 years later.

"There's a house in Nashville that has your father listed as the owner. I take it your family lived there for several years, and after you moved away, the place was empty, since we couldn't get in touch with your mother. The reason I'm calling is that there's a potential buyer interested in purchasing the house. Whether you'd like to keep the house, put it up for rent, or sell it, it'd be best if you could sign the renewed contract with your name on it, not your father's."

I search for something to say, but end up empty-handed. Dad couldn't've owned the house we lived in in Nashville, because we bought it after he died. At least, that's what my mother said. I guess that's just another thing to add to the list of lies.

"Ms. Williams?" The voice breaks my train of thought.

"Sorry," I mumble. I have to go back to Nashville. That's quite literally going to be a trip down memory lane.

"It's possible to sign the papers digitally, but I don't recommend it," he adds.

"It's fine," I answer. I haven't been there since the summer after my freshman year of college, right before Taylor and I broke up, so it'll be fitting for me to go there now.

When I get off the plane the very next day, the wave of nostalgia hits me like a truck. The last time I was at this airport was when I was going back to start my second year at Julliard. I wasn't planning on going so soon, but there was a last-minute ticket left that was less than half the price I'd pay normally, so I figured I might as well get this over with while Justin is away. I'd be killing two birds with one stone by not having the time to mentally prepare myself, therefore worrying about the people I might run into and such.

Right now, though, I'm starting to regret my actions. I get carried away staring at the place Taylor and I shared our last kiss before that one phone call that changed everything. It was right by the café, where we said goodbye a few days before my semester started. If I try hard enough, I can still feel it on my lips. It was different; it felt different. Had he planned on breaking up with me then, already?

_Stick to the plan_ , I say to myself, shaking my head free of the thoughts that might just drive me crazy. I talked to the real estate agent for a while yesterday and agreed on a place and date to sign the papers. I have no intention of keeping the house, if it even really is mine — which I'm not so sure about, since dad passed before we even knew we were going to be moving to Nashville. What I am sure about, though, is that this chapter of my life ended a long time ago, and the sooner I rid myself of anything tying me here, the better.

As I enter the office I was given the address to by the person who called me yesterday, I'm met with 3 faces, one of which is an older man — the real estate agent, no doubt — as well as a couple in their thirties, who I assume are the people who want to buy the house.

"Hi," I say slowly.

"Hello," the man says enthusiastically, standing up from behind his desk and offering me his hand. "You must be Ms. Williams. I'm Andrew Lockwood — we spoke over the phone — and this is Mr. and Mrs. Hall. They're interested in purchasing the house your father was the owner of."

"Nice to meet you," I force a smile in their direction.

"Let's get straight to the point. How would you like to proceed? Putting the house up for renting is an option, as well, if you'd prefer that."

"Yeah, about that," I cut him off, "when did my dad buy that house? Because we used to live in Franklin before that, and as far as I know, we had no intention of moving before he died from a heart attack a few months prior to us coming to Nashville. Do you know why he bought it? He never invested in real estate or anything," I spring the questions in his direction, fully aware that he probably won't know most of the answers.

"Um," he clears his throat, clearly unhappy with my interruption. "The house was purchased a year and a half before you and your mother officially moved there," he says, looking through his files. "And as for why, I'm sorry to say that I don't know. I never met your father."

I frown and look to the side. A year and a half before he died, he randomly bought a house in a different city for no apparent reason? That doesn't sound right, if only because we didn't have the money to spare, or because he just wasn't one to invest like that.

"Anyhow," the agent says after a moment of silence, "would you like to keep the house, or sell it?"

"I don't want it," I blurt out. "I mean, you can sell it, you can rent it... I don't care."

I can see the happiness on the faces of the couple. At least some good will come from this.

"Great. I need you to sign a number of documents, so you can sit down, since we'll be here a while," he tells me, and I take the only free chair.

After scribbling the last signature and giving him all of my information and such, I feel surprisingly underwhelmed, although my hand does hurt like hell.

"That'll be all," he says with a smile.

"Thanks."

He says something generic about how great it was meeting me and so on, but I don't really pay attention because of the fight that's going on inside me as to whether I should do what I've been debating doing, which is looking around where I used to live. I know that if I go there, the memories are inevitably going to come back, but somehow I can't stop myself from wanting to see it anyway.

I leave the room without another word, before my mind has the time to wonder about the couple that would be moving into what used to be my house, since anything related to love seems to make me feel a little sick lately.

Memories play out in my mind as I walk through the streets of Nashville, and if the nostalgia wasn't getting to me a few hours ago, it sure is getting to me now.

Walking past my high school, I think about how the spot I'm staring at is the exact spot I used to meet Taylor at every morning before looking away. It's empty now, since it's the evening, but I wouldn't put it past my luck to run into someone I know if I stayed longer.

As I approach what used to be my house, I find it to look utterly the same as what it used to. The driveway is — not surprisingly — empty, since nobody lives here at the moment, but that's about the only difference from what the view of this place used to be a few years ago, given my mother thought it was a waste of time to use the garage. The lawn hasn't been mowed for a good amount of time, and the white that's supposed to be on the walls is the same shade of light yellow I remember it being.

Before I know it — or before I'm able to stop myself — my legs are carrying me somewhere else, towards a place that used to feel a lot more like home than the house I just stood in front of ever did. I wonder if his parents still live here, as I inspect the street for changes, but fail to find any. I take a few steps toward the front door, and smile unconsciously when the name tag next to the doorbell reads York. My finger hovers above it for a split second, but the next I put my hand down. Yup, that's about as much as I can take for one day.

I turn around and start walking away when a click from behind me makes me freeze, as the realization of what had just happened dawns upon me.

"Hayley," the female voice I grew to know so well over the years says. "Is that you?"

I reluctantly spin on my heel and try to not look like I'm in physical pain. "Hi, Mrs. York," I reply as I take her appearance in. Just like everything else here, she looks the same. Yes, she's obviously aged, but the look in her eyes hasn't.

"I can hardly believe what I'm seeing. What are you doing here?" She asks, as I walk back to her doorstep. At least she looks genuinely happy to see me, which is good.

"I, uh," I run a hand through my hair, trying to come up with an answer that doesn't make me sound like I'm a crazy person wandering around other people's houses. "Apparently I was – well, my dad was, but since he died and my mother re-married, that left me – still written as the owner of what used to be our house, so I flew here because of some paperwork. And, I don't know, I guess I wanted to look around here. Call it nostalgia?"

She nods a few times, and her eyes won't leave my face — as if she's inspecting me, looking for something. "Would you like to come in for a while? Peter's not going to be home until Wednesday, but I'd love to catch up."

I step from one foot to another, reminding myself that I'm supposed to be moving forward, and spending time with Taylor's mom doesn't quite seem to fit that criteria. Despite this, a few seconds later I decide that an hour or so of my time is probably the least that I owe her.

"Yeah."

"Great," she smiles.

As I enter the house, I do my best to prevent the smell of the home from overwhelming me with memories. Six years ago, I would've called this place my home — rather than the house I shared with my mother — and given how much time I spent here, it most likely would've been accurate for me to call it that.

"Come sit," she gestures towards the kitchen table, and I do just that after taking off my jacket. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Coffee sounds nice," I answer, trying not to sound desperate, despite already having had one at the airport as well as one this morning.

"You look good," she says after a moment of silently preparing the drink. I consider going to help her out, like I always used to during the time I stayed here, but ultimately decide against it, since making coffee isn't the most exhausting thing ever, after all.

"Thanks," I reply, but don't return the compliment, since I feel like it'd sound a little disingenuous.

"Three sugars, right?" She asks as she sets the cup down in front of me, and I stare at her for an instant, surprised that she still remembers such a small, insignificant detail.

"Yeah," I nod and thank her.

"So, how are you? You said you flew here, so I'm assuming you moved after Julliard," Michelle starts, and I have to wonder how much Taylor's shared with her about me. _Not much_ , I think. Knowing him as well as I do, I doubt he's told her more than the very basics, because he hates talking about things that make him upset. At the same time, I don't quite know what he was going through during our break up, but I presume that he told his mother that he's found someone else, given he went to college close to here, meaning he spent a good amount of time with his family during that time. And as much as he hates to admit it or give in to it, talking about his problems is pretty much the only thing that can make him feel better.

"I did," I answer, knowing full well that they couldn't've talked about how we sort of became friends again because she'd know where I lived. This means she still doesn't know about Justin.

That realization hits me like a ton of bricks. How had I never thought about her in all of this? Taylor didn't deserve to know, that's for sure. But she did, and Taylor's dad did, too. And after losing their son, I bet a grandchild would've been one of the only things that could've made that period a little less painful, that could've taken their mind off of things.

"Where to?"

"Portland," I give her a one-word answer while biting the inside of my mouth, the guilt seeping in. Taylor would be furious with me if I told her — no doubt about that. Then again, he's the last person whose anger concerns me, given how he left things. But how would I approach the topic? _'The coffee's great. Oh, by the way, you have a grandkid that I named after your deceased son as well as your other son who just happens to be his father.'_

"What's going on?" She questions and I realize I've been staring off to the side, completely unaware of my surroundings.

"Nothing," I lie, "just a lot of memories," I say, only partially making my excuse up. I can tell by the way her eyes narrow that she's not convinced, but luckily for me, she drops it. Just like Taylor, she's one of the people I could never fool. My mother never paid enough attention to notice something was up, but Michelle could point it out in a matter of seconds.

"Why Portland? Did you find a job there after college?" Yet again the question catches me off guard. Right, she doesn't know about that either.

"No," I say, looking down and shaking my head. "My mother lived in Portland for a while, so I moved there because of her. I actually didn't finish Julliard," I say the last part slowly, almost feeling embarrassed about that fact.

Her eyebrows go up. "I had no idea. Why?"

I gaze at her, my mouth slightly open. It's on the tip of my tongue. _'Because I was pregnant.'_ "It was too hard," I finally say, not having the guts to tell her the truth, although she definitely deserves to know it.

"I'm sorry to hear that. When did that happen?" She speaks with pity in her voice, something I'm not a fan of.

"The start of my sophomore year," I answer, and watch her connect the circumstances.

"Oh," she says slowly, and I can tell she's realizing the timing of me dropping out. "I tried to ask Taylor about you after you guys broke up, but he was so down, he wouldn't tell me anything," she sighs.

I frown at her usage of words — more specifically at how she said that _we_ broke up, not that Taylor called me in the middle of the night to say what he said. " _We_ broke up?" I ask, confused.

"Well, Taylor didn't tell anyone anything, but I assumed that's what happened — is it not? I don't know the details, but given how angry he seemed about it, it only made sense for you to have come to a mutual agreement or something. I never quite understood why, though... you always seemed so close and strong together."

The crease on my forehead deepens. That can't be right. " _Taylor_ broke up with _me_ ," I tell her, hoping she'll clear the confusion and tell me that she remembers things wrong or something of the sort.

"What? Why would he do that?" I wish I knew.

"He said he—" I begin, but stop myself before I spill facts about his life he decided to keep to himself to his mother, still for some reason caring about what happens to him. "Are you sure you didn't just read him wrong? With what he said to me, he didn't have a reason to be angry."

"Pretty sure," she answers.

"About a month into my semester, he called me one night and told me he didn't love me anymore, had cheated on me, and that we should break up," I cram as much information into one sentence as possible, not wanting to go over the events of that night for longer than I have to. Her face twists a bit as her head tilts to the side, probably having expected me to say a lot of things, but not that.

"He wouldn't do that," she tries to convince me of something I had told myself so many times while wishing what happened was just a nightmare I'd wake up from.

"That's what I thought, too," I say, giving her a sad smile.

"I don't think you understand what I'm saying. That boy loved you with everything he had, breaking up with you is the last thing he's ever wanted to do," she still doesn't believe me.

"I know it doesn't make sense," I reassure her. "I've been trying to make sense of it for years now, and I still don't understand; I doubt I ever will, to be honest," I say with a sigh, and I can tell by her expression that she still isn't convinced.

"I'm sorry, it's just..." she trails off with a sigh, "very hard to believe."

"I know. Trust me when I say I understand. Have you seen him lately at all?" I question, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Yes, he's stopped by a few times after getting back. He seemed a little different than usual, but not enough for me to think much of it," she answers, and I freeze. She said he came back, meaning she probably knows he was in Portland. Of course she does; he played a game there. Has she read the gossip article? Judging by the conversation we've had so far, that's unlikely, but I can't be sure.

To my surprise, though, she doesn't bring it up again during the next hour or so that we talk. She asks me about my life, my job, and I leave out the parts that concern Justin's existence, as well as the parts about how I actually don't have a job, in case the following question would be how I afford to pay rent. But other than that, talking to her is — dare I say — nice, which is not a feeling I came here expecting to have.

I find out that she still works at the hospital, and everything is pretty much going the way it should in her as well as her husband's life. Knowing that somehow puts my mind at ease a little bit. I didn't realize that this was a piece if closure I needed, but I think I always did subconsciously wonder how she dealt with Justin's death and how she was doing nowadays. And now there's nothing else but moving forward.

\-----

The drive from the airport to my apartment is a nightmare because of the storm raging above Portland. I'm honestly lucky I haven't crashed into someone yet since it's very hard to see anything through the rain.

There is a good aspect to this drive, too, though. I think I'm finally cured. After what happened in Nashville, surprisingly enough, I think I'm finally going to be able to move forward, having finally closed that chapter of my life for good. I'm getting back to my old life — the one I had before Taylor showed up again and made a mess of things, stirring up feelings in my heart that should've stayed where I left them all those years ago.

Having to run because of the lack of anything that'd protect me from the rain, I spot a male figure standing at the entrance of my building, seemingly unfazed by anything that's happening around him. I'm about to ask him to move away so that I can get inside — at this moment not really caring about his reasons for being out here in this weather — when I realize just who the person is.

"Taylor?"  
  
  
  


_7 years ago_

_"You're aware that this is ridiculous, right?" Taylor questions, referring to me decorating the tree we'd just bought._

_"Yeah. Celebrating holidays — I can hardly believe it. Who the hell does that, anyway? Totally out of my mind," I reply sarcastically, leaning on my tiptoes in an effort to put a plastic snowflake on one of the top branches, but remaining unsuccessful. "Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I'll just sign myself into a mental hos-" I don't get to finish the sentence when two big arms come around my waist and lift me up, making me gasp at the sudden action._

_"That's not what I meant," Taylor says, helping me put the decoration in place._

_"What did you mean, then?"_

_"It's the middle of December; Christmas isn't for two more weeks."_

_"I know," I say, giving him a peck on the lips before going over to the couch that has the box with decorations on it, "but since you're leaving on Sunday, we're having Christmas now."_

_"You can't just change when Christmas is. It's a tradition that's thousands of years old, Hayley," he argues, but even despite his protesting, he continues helping me with the decorating._

_"But that's exactly what I'm doing. Besides — it's your birthday tomorrow, so why not just combine the two? You ruined it for me last year by withholding the information — which I'm still mad at you about, by the way — so we're definitely celebrating it this year, no discussion. All I want from you is to stop complaining, appreciate, and enjoy," I finish with a smile and walk backward to admire the now decorated tree._

_"Well, thank you," he says, and his hands rest on my hips again, his head leaning down until we're just inches apart. "I do wonder how I'll pay you back, though," he adds, his voice lowering. I can feel his breath on my lips._

_"No idea," I whisper, and just as we're about to kiss, the sound of keys being twisted in the front door interrupts us._

_I can't help but grin at the pure annoyance — almost anger — on Taylor's face when he has to let go of me. "Hey kids," Taylor's mom calls out cheerily, walking into the house with three huge paper bags. Taylor and I go help her, putting them up on the counter._

_"Hi, Mrs. York," I call out, just as cheerily as she had been._

_"What's the frown for, Taylor?" She asks her son, and I have to stifle a giggle again, because I know that question only irritates him more._

_"You have impeccable timing, is all," he replies._

_She squints her eyes at him while I start taking out the groceries and putting them in place._

_This house has become a second home to me this year; more and more so lately. I've basically claimed the guest room as my own by now — though I rarely spend the night there, since I usually sneak to Taylor's room when it's late enough and fall asleep with him. I'm pretty sure his parents know, too, though they haven't said anything yet._

_Whenever Garret's around, I just take my stuff and stay here. Lately, though, I just come because my mother's complaints about her new job — and then a few weeks later, her complaints about_ _losing_ _said job — are too annoying to listen to. And because I get to see Taylor, of course. At first, I was worried that I was bothering his family, but they repeatedly told me that they were happy to have me until I was able to believe it._

_"I see you guys have been hard at work," she comments on the Christmas tree._

_"More like I've been hard at work and Taylor's been watching," I answer, but he immediately defends himself._

_"Um, excuse you. Number one, that's not true, and number two, I didn't even want this. This is your idea, so you should be happy I did what I did," he replies, and I give him a sweet smile, one I know he hates when it's used sarcastically._

_"How are things at home, Hayley? Do you have any plans for Christmas with your mom?" Michelle asks, changing the topic — much to my dismay. I do enjoy making Taylor annoyed, probably more than I should._

_"I haven't talked to my mom about it yet, but I'm not sure. Last year she had a party at her job, so if she manages to keep the one she has now, she'll probably do that again, hopefully," I reply, in the back of my mind praying that she doesn't end up having Garrett over, because that'd mean I'd have to stay out of the house, and I really don't know where I'd go. It's not like many stores are open on Christmas morning._

_"So you'll be alone?" She asks with a little shock in her voice, as if that's somehow something that wouldn't happen in my home, which it a hundred percent is._

_"I usually go to some café and do homework or something," I reply, not really giving it much thought. She, however, clearly does._

_"No stores are going to be open then," she shoots back with a fact I'm painfully aware of, and I just shrug as I place a gallon of milk into the fridge, not quite having an answer. "Why don't you come here?" The question randomly pops out, and I turn around to face her, unsure if she's being serious or not. Any doubt about the offer standing disappears, though, as soon as I see her determined expression._

_"I can't do that," I state the obvious._

_"Why not?"_

_"Well, because that's a family holiday," I reply, and she looks at me with a frown forming on her forehead, as if what I said makes no sense whatsoever._

_"Your point is...?" She trails off._

_"Taylor's not even going to be here."_

_"So? I have no doubt that Justin would be grateful for the company of someone his age."_

_"She's trying to trap you because she doesn't want to put up with grandma," Taylor says from behind me, his hand on my shoulder._

_"What?" I ask._

_"Every year the entire extended family gathers in this house to celebrate the holidays. It's a real headache, I'll tell you that. I'm just glad I don't have to be here this year," he says with a chuckle._

_"Please, Hayley, I'd be very glad if you came in the case you don't have anywhere to go," Michelle completely dismisses Taylor's comments, looking at me with sincerity in her gaze as warmth spreads through my chest._

_"Thanks," I say, appreciating the offer despite knowing that I very likely won't take her up on it. If Taylor were going to be there I might consider it, but meeting the extended York family without him like that just isn't something I'm up for. Besides, I don't want to intrude, which is something I'd inevitably be doing._

_I get home that evening with the intention of going to Taylor's the next day to celebrate early Christmas — as well as his birthday — to find my mother on the phone, sitting in front of the TV, watching some stupid reality show; this is a position that's becoming more and more her normal state._

_"Hey mom," I call out, and her head turns toward me._

_"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," she replies, getting at the fact that I spend most of my time at Taylor's, something that clearly bothers her. She also doesn't hold back in pointing it out one bit when I decide to go home. I guess she doesn't realize that it has the opposite effect from that which she's seemingly trying to achieve, because hearing her going on like this only makes me want to spend less time here._

_"Yeah, I'm going back tomorrow. It's Taylor's birthday," I mention, hoping she'll just leave it as I go pour myself a glass of water in the kitchen._

_"You do know you still live here, right?" She questions._

_I don't say anything as I raise the glass I poured for this very reason to my lips._

_"I'm expecting you'll be here for Christmas. Garret's finally made the time and got off work this year, so the three of us will have a nice evening," my eyes go wide as I almost choke on the liquid, and I put the glass on the counter with much more force than I should have used. I bite the inside of my mouth as I try to come up with a response that doesn't contain too many swearwords._

_"Well?" She prods, and I sigh heavily._

_"I'm not sure if you have amnesia, mom, but I've told you about a hundred times already that I have no intention of getting anywhere near that... person," I somehow swallow the many other things I want to call him._

_"You're sixteen, Hayley. I'm still your legal guardian," I roll my eyes as I head for the stairs, not having the strength to deal with this bullshit right now. "Why can't you just do this for me?"_

_"Because he's abusive," I finally snap as her nonsense becomes too much for me. "And I know that telling you this is no use, so please just let me leave," I can tell she's about to argue, but I get out of her sight fast enough not to have to listen to her._

_"Hey," I say into my phone that rings a few minutes after I get started with my algebra homework, in an attempt to get my mind to focus on something that's not my fucked up family situation._

_"Hi," Taylor says with the same voice he uses when he feels guilty, which means that whatever I'm about to hear can't be good. "So, listen... I know you're going to hate me for this, but the whole trip is moving a little bit. I have to leave early in the morning tomorrow, so you won't be able to catch me."_

_"What?" I question, hoping I just misunderstood him._

_"I'm really sorry. I know you were preparing this whole thing with my birthday and stuff, but I just found out a couple of minutes ago. This does mean, though, that I'll be home for Christmas, so please consider what my mom told you today," he says, and I basically watch all the plans I had for his birthday crumble as I can't stop staring at the math problem I've been trying to solve for the past 30 minutes._

_"Just give me a call when you're free," I reply absentmindedly, the day now completely ruined._

_"Okay," he breathes out heavily, "again, I'm really sorry; I know you had plans for tomorrow. I'll make it up to you, I promise," he apologizes again._

_"Yeah," I say, quietly. I was going to tell him about what I learned at home today, but ultimately decide against it, not having the energy to face the inevitable twenty questions he'll have._

_"I gotta go. I'll see you later," and with that, he quits the call._

_The next few days pass by rather fast. I busy myself with homework as much as possible, and when I run out of things to do, all my focus goes into the piano. The more and more I think about college, the more it dawns upon me that, besides music, I really don't have many options, so I put as much energy into it as possible._

_By the time the 24th rolls around, I still don't have a plan as to how I'll spend the next day. I thought Taylor was going to call me by now, but that hasn't happened, meaning that the hockey thing probably got extended. I escape the house while my mom's not home so that I don't have to face neither her nor Garrett, heading for a café I'm pretty sure should be opened at least most of tonight. This suspicion is later confirmed, as I order coffee and open the book I brought with me, so that I don't get completely bored out of my mind tonight._

_I'm painfully aware that my mother's going to be furious with me for sneaking out again, but to be honest, I couldn't care less. I've been wondering lately if she's always been so careless, even when she was with dad. Before he passed, we were the most ordinary family in Franklin; pretty much nothing stood out. All of that, only to become one of the most dysfunctional families I've ever come across. I ultimately come to the conclusion that I have no idea. She did do some questionable things then, but does that justify this?_

_My mind is brought back to reality when I hear the sound of a metal chair scraping the floor, as someone drags it back to sit across from me at my table._

_"You really are a buzzkill," Taylor says, and I bite my lip to stop the smile that's spreading across my face. "I mean, you're reading Shakespeare alone on the 24th of December."_

_"How did you know I was here?" I ask, just now realizing how much I missed him, as any anger that I might've had towards him for leaving early quickly evaporates._

_"Well, the only other place open right now is Walmart, so I took my guess," he replies with a chuckle, and I nod. We gaze at each other for a while, and I find it hard not to drown in his eyes. "Hi," he says softly._

_"Hey," I reply._

_"I'm guessing your house is unoccupiable," he says, and I nod in response, not wanting to get into the details, since I'm pretty sure he already knows what's up. "You know there is this other place you could go."_

_"I don't want to intrude," I interrupt him._

_"I'm actually going to get a headache from this 'not intruding' stuff. How many times do I have to tell you that literally everyone would be thrilled to see you? Besides," he looks to the side, and I watch the anger shift into guilt, "I already told my mom you're coming, so you have to come, because she'd be heartbroken if you didn't."_

_"You what?" I ask, inspecting his face to see if he's bluffing to get me to come, but seeing that he isn't — not that I was expecting anything else from him. "You're impossible," I comment, only getting more pissed at his smug grin._

_"Which is why you like me so much."_

_The chatter that can be heard all the way from outside the York house only confirms my worst fears; yes, the entire extended family was invited, probably even the extended family's extended family. I turn around and look at Taylor pleadingly, having less and less desire to get into that crowded of a space._

_"It'll be fine, just stay with me. I won't let them eat you," he says, and presses a kiss to my hair._

_Luckily, we enter the house unnoticed. That notion lasts for about three seconds, right up until Justin's very loud voice fills the hallway._

_"Hayley!" He calls as loudly as possible, to draw all the attention to me. "I am so glad to see you," he hugs me, lowering his voice as he speaks directly into my ear, "seriously, I mean it. I think I'm losing my mind._ _Help me_ _," I can't help but chuckle at the desperation he talks with, combined with the smell of alcohol on his breath. To be fair, I'd probably be losing my mind, too, if I had to go through what he's going through._

_After that, it's just a blur of many cousins, uncles, and other family members smiling sweetly at me and introducing themselves with the words, 'I'm so glad Taylor's finally found someone,' and, 'It's so great to meet you,' and so on. After about a solid twenty minutes of that, Taylor drags me onto the porch, which I'm very glad for — despite it being freezing outside — because it means we're completely alone._

_"I got your gift," he says, digging for something in his pocket._

_"You know you're supposed to give me that tomorrow morning, right?" I say with a giggle._

_"It's for your birthday," he says, as he pulls a small box out._

_"That's in three days," I argue, white clouds forming in front of my mouth each time I speak._

_"I know, just let me have this," Taylor replies. "Give me your hand," he says, absentmindedly._

_"You're not going to ask me to marry you, right?" I ask, playfully._

_"Shut up," he mumbles as he reaches for my wrist, wrapping something around it._

_When I look at it, it takes me a moment to realize that it's a silver bracelet because of the lack of lighting on the porch. I tilt it so that the light reflects off of the jewelry, giving me the ability to read the engraved letters: 'Whenever I am alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again.'_

_"Taylor," I'm at a loss for words, unable to take my eyes off the first line of 'Lovesong' by The Cure._

_"Turn it over," he says, a spark in his eyes._

_I do just that to find another engraving, but this time it's two series of numbers, each one followed by a letter. "What is that?"_

_"They're GPS coordinates," he answers, with the dim light from inside hitting half of his face enough for me to see that he's grinning._

_"What?" I question, chuckling. I was expecting him to say a lot of things, but not that._

_"Well, if you followed them, they'd lead you to this hockey stadium here in Nashville, to a spot right below the bleachers. You might've been there once or twice," he tells me, and it takes me a couple of seconds to realize what he's trying to say. That's where we had our first kiss._

_"Taylor, I..." I try to find the right words, but fail miserably. "Wow," is the only thing I manage to get out of myself, still not taking my eyes off of the piece of jewelry he undoubtedly must've spent a really long time thinking about._

_I look at him, and his eyes immediately go up, so I follow his gaze only to find the true reason he brought me here. A mistletoe. There's one hanging right above our heads, and I wonder how long he's been planning this._

_As soon as I drop my gaze back down, he shrugs at me, a confident smile on his face. I can't help but grin back at him as his hand gently comes under my chin, angling it upwards. The very next second, his lips softly press into mine. I knead my hands in his hair — which is probably my favorite thing to do — as we slowly move against each other. This kiss is different than before. It's like everything we can't say or express with words, we're saying in this one moment, with something as simple as a kiss._

_"Wait," I say as I pull away, "I got you something, too."_

_He waits patiently as I reach for the CD I was going to give him over a week ago, had he not bailed on me. "A mix tape?" He grins when I hand it to him._

_"It's not nearly as fancy as what you gave me," I begin, but he doesn't let me finish._

_"I love it," he says with a reassuring smile, "thank you."_

_"I did kind of do something else for you, too," I say matter-of-factly, unsure of whether I should bring this up, since it's a work in progress to say the least._

_"What'd you do?" He asks, clearly curious._

_"I, uh..." I stall, suddenly regretting bringing it up._

_"Come on, spit it out."_

_"I kind of wrote you a song," I say, carefully inspecting his reaction._

_"Play it for me, then," Taylor replies immediately._

_"I'm not sure if you noticed, but you don't have a piano in this house, and there's no way we're going to my place to wind up facing the wrath of my mother," I argue._

_"I have a guitar in my room," he responds, and already starts dragging me around the porch._

_"I don't even play the guitar, and there's no way we'd get past your family," I try to get him to stop, but I very unsurprisingly can't, because of the whole_ _he's an athlete and I barely go outside_ _thing._

_"We're going through the garage, so nobody will see us. And yes you do, I've seen you," we enter the garage and then head straight for the staircase that will take us to the second floor, which is thankfully empty._

_"Hardly," I argue, fully aware that I can play, like, three chords on the guitar._

_"So? You're like a musical genius, you'll figure it out," he says, leading me into his room and closing the door._

_"That's not how it works, Taylor," I still try to put up a fight, but it's already obvious that I'm not going to win, as he reaches for the acoustic guitar in the corner of his room._

_"Please?" He looks at me and pretends to be sad. "I've had to deal with coach screaming at me and telling me everything I'm doing wrong for the past week; you'd make me feel a lot better."_

_"Fine," I say through gritted teeth, "but if I suck, you still have to tell me you like it. Actually, no; if I suck, I'm expecting_ _you_ _to apologize to_ _me_ _,_ _because this whole thing is your fault."_

_"It will be my pleasure," he says, his hand on his chest, right above his heart._

_I unwillingly take the guitar, taking my sweet time with tuning it, in the back of my mind still trying to delay the inevitable. I strum a few notes, doing my best to transfer my knowledge of music from piano to here, but it's proving to be a little more difficult than I thought._

_After figuring out the chord progression, I slowly start playing the love song I wrote for Taylor a couple months ago. I avoid his gaze, switching between staring at my hand and the fretboard, so that I don't have to see his expression as I sing the words I'm too scared to plainly tell him._

_The words came to me one day completely randomly in the middle of a history class of all places. I got carried away, not willing to spend another second listening to a lecture about the early American Colonies for the 4th time since grade school. The lyrics appeared out of nowhere, but I went with it always having been a lot better at expressing myself through the means of music rather than conversation. And before I knew it I had written a song which is something I had never done before that._

_It didn't quite occur to me what the words I wrote meant at first – I was just writing how I felt about certain things, but only after I read it a couple times and added a melody to the lyrics did I realize two very important things. Number one – I needed to pay more attention in history class because I got a C minus that week and number two – I was completely and utterly in love with Taylor York._

_"... and I'm on my way to believing," I finish the last line and finally muster the courage to look at him. Air escapes his mouth as he lets out a laugh, as if he's just figured out something amazing._

_"Did it suck?" I ask nervously when he doesn't say anything for a while._

_"I love you, too," he says, and my eyes go wide as I stare at him in shock, gutted that he completely and fully understood the lyrics I just sang probably much better than I ever have._

_"How did you...?" I don't finish asking him how the hell he realized it so soon when it took me over 3 weeks of staring at the lyrics as I trail off._

_"How could I not?"_


	10. nine

"Taylor?" I say his name before I have the time to overthink.

The silhouette turns around, and it feels like someone punches my chest when I see his face, the air suddenly missing in my lungs.

He lets out a heavy breath, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" I blurt out, my heart beating so fast that I swear he must be able to feel it, too. This has got to be the biggest joke my life has prepared for me in a long time. After the two days I spent in Nashville — after all of that moving on stuff — this happens. Classy as always.

He looks at me intently, his wet hair in his eyes, and I see his shoulders rise and fall as he opens his mouth to answer, but doesn't end up saying anything. I sigh, realizing I shouldn't have expected anything else from him and head for the entrance to my building since it only then occurs to me that it's still very much raining like hell.

"Wait," he finally says, and I — for reasons unknown — stop and turn around.

"What? What could you possibly have to tell me now, after everything?"

"The truth," he says, defiantly.

"Like the truth you told your mom?" I ask, my arms crossed over my chest defensively, thinking of just how unaware Michelle was of everything.

"So you two did talk," he bites his bottom lip, something he does when he's trying not to smile. "I thought that was what happened, but I couldn't quite figure out the circumstances of you two contacting each other," I tilt my head to the side and frown in confusion. "She called me this morning. I was already here and kind of busy, so I couldn't talk for a long time, but let me tell you that the last time she's interrogated me like that was when she thought I was taking speed in my sophomore year," he chuckles, but I can't bring myself to find even the tiniest bit of humor in this situation.

"I had to go to Nashville to fill out some paperwork to do with my family's old house, and I somehow ended up walking around when I ran into your mom," I explain, hoping it'll be enough for him to leave me alone.

"Wait," he says again, but this time I finally have it together and reach for my keys. Only, when I do, my pocket is empty. I must've left them in the car. Awesome. Just what I needed. This day really couldn't've taken a bigger u-turn from this morning to now.

I slowly turn around, staring at the ground, the water seeping through my clothes and onto my skin. "I forgot my keys in the car," I explain, but his expression stays neutral.

"Look, I know you have no reason to listen to me, but please do."

"No," I shake my head in denial, wanting to be anywhere but here.

"Okay, how about this; you listen to what I have to say, no interruptions, and if you still want nothing to do with me after that, I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again, I swear," his eyes are searching mine now, wet strands of hair blocking his vision.

"Fine," I reply, my teeth slightly gritted.

He nods, some of the tension leaving his body, but he gains it back again soon, walking back and forth for a second before talking. "I remember the first time I saw a hockey game," he begins. I furrow my brows, not seeing how that relates to this situation, but continuing to keep quiet because of the deal we just made. "I was about four years old, and my dad just put it on only to not really watch it — but I couldn't unglue my eyes from the screen. It amazed me how these guys moved on the ice with such grace, seemingly effortlessly, and I knew then that I needed to learn how to do that."

"And from that day onward, hockey was the only thing that mattered. It took up all of my time, and I wouldn't've had it any other way back then. But then, out of the blue, you appeared in my life, and suddenly you took the place hockey used to have. Had it come to it, I would've given the game up for you," he says, and I have to fight the shock from that statement. I had thought about that very topic many times; whether he'd choose hockey over me. I knew he loved me, but he loved the game a whole lot as well.

"Now, as you know, Kevin picked me up around Christmas the year you moved to New York. You also know that he didn't exactly like you," I scoff. That's the understatement of the century. "I never really told you about this, but he had a lot of issues with our relationship. Every time I'd talk to you, he'd get super annoyed and start spewing his bullshit about how you're distracting me, and so on and so forth. I didn't listen to him from the beginning, but over time it got to me, which is also one of the reasons we didn't talk much at all during the couple of months leading up to that summer.

"The 'me being distracted' part wasn't the thing that got to me, though. I knew what was going on in my head, and I knew how to focus on the things that mattered in each moment, so I was aware that that wasn't true. But what did get me to listen was when he started talking about you and Julliard. He would always say that our careers didn't match, and one of us would end up sacrificing our own. He kept saying that I'd either have to quit hockey or you'd have to drop out of college to keep our relationship alive.

"I obviously didn't listen to him at the beginning. What the hell did he know about you and I and what we've been through, right?" He lets out a humorless laugh. "But the more I let it sit in my head, the less ridiculous it seemed. And this one time we face-timed, you made a joke about moving back home and getting a teaching job or something, and suddenly that was the only thing I could think about. But then you moved to Nashville for the summer, and everything seemed right in the world again; better than right. That was probably the best two months of my life, to be honest.

"And then Justin died," he says, and the sad glimmer flashes through his eyes again, the way it always does whenever his brother is brought up. He runs his hand through his soaked hair, but it's back in his face immediately because of the rain. "I was lost, Hayley. It felt like a part of me died with him that day. He was one of the best people I knew, and it all just seemed so unfair. And then two weeks later, you left.

"That's when everything started going downhill. Everything seemed pointless to me, especially with you so far away. Training started shortly after, and it was all happening again. Not having enough time to talk to you, having to deal with Kevin's bullshit and all of the exhaustion. And then you mentioned it again – you said something about how you didn't even like Julliard that much, and wouldn't be opposed to the idea of going back home. When I think back on it, I'm pretty sure you meant it as a joke, but back then I didn't think so."

I can't help but stare at him as his eyes redden in the corners, as if he's trying not to cry. What's even more strange, though, is the fact that he hasn't mentioned the other girl yet. His story is a couple of weeks away from our break-up, so he's probably just leaving that part out.

"I just couldn't be that guy, Hayley. I couldn't be the kind of person that would let you choose me over your dreams that you've worked so hard for. So one night, after a particularly hard day, I called you. I knew I wouldn't be able to do it face to face — hell, just hearing your voice was already so hard. I told you we should take a break, and when you wouldn't let me go, I lied and made up the fact that I cheated on you. I told you that I didn't love you anymore, which was obviously bullshit. And you believed me so easily after that."

I stand there staring at him, unable to believe what he's just told me. It can't be true. I've lived believing what he told me for so long that the possibility of those facts being false seems inconceivable.

"I was just trying to do the right thing, Hayley. And look where that got me, where it got you. Seeing you in that diner for the first time after so long, realizing what I did, realizing that the years of misery I had gone through at that point were all for nothing... well, I think it's needless to say that I freaked."

I just keep staring. Subconsciously, I'm already making the connections, and it's all making much more sense than I'm willing to admit. Too much time has passed that I've lived with the idea of him being the villain, and the fact that I've had it all wrong all this time feels impossible to wrap my head around.

But, God, do I want it to be true.

"For five years, I kept telling myself that hockey was enough. So I put everything I had into it. I spent five hours in the gym every day, and just as much time on the ice. I got signed to an NHL team a couple of months later. That became my life, and to be honest, it wasn't a horrible life. Until the accident, that is. I still don't remember it, but I know I looked for you in the audience. I did every game.

"Being around you again, hearing you laugh again... all of a sudden, I felt like I could breathe again, and I realized that you were exactly what I was missing. I tried to get you to forgive me, which obviously didn't work out — not that I blame you in the slightest. And when you told me to go, all of those reflexes that were the reason we broke up in the first place kicked in again, and I went back to what I was used to. I did the only thing I knew how to do, and I buried myself in the game, telling myself that if I could be the best, it would be enough. And so I was. I trained like hell, and during that one game, I played like I never have before. When everybody was congratulating me after the match, I thought I was happy... I really did," he says, with a heavy sigh.

"And then I looked at the countless faces that came to watch and froze. All of a sudden it didn't matter how many points I got that night, or that they basically offered me a contract for 20 million dollars right then and there. None of it mattered, because out of the ten thousand people in there, not a single one was you."

My mouth hangs open as I stand in front of Taylor in utter shock, the only sound between us being the rain drumming against the pavement. None of this seems real. A couple of days ago, I was living the life I have for the past five years without him, and although I was miserable, it felt safe in a way. But this – the possibility of having something else – feels more than terrifying, and, most importantly, unreal.

"Say something, please," his voice breaks through my thoughts, and I realize that I've been doing nothing but staring at him the entire time.

"I..." I'm at a loss for words. What the hell do I say? "This can't be true... how do I know this is the truth?" I ask. Yes, in the back of my mind, I need for this to be the truth, but too much time, too much heartache, and too many sleepless nights have passed for me to so easily believe in this again.

"Come here," he takes my hand in both of his and places it above his heart. Even in the freezing rain, his chest is still heaving with heat. "You know I'm right — you have to. You have to know I would've never broken up with you if I thought I had another possibility; no guy in their right mind would."

He's right, my mind says. He's exactly who I've always thought he was — even more so. He gave up his happiness for mine, and although it was a stupid thing to do, it more than fits into what teenaged me used to think about him.

"No," I shake my head rapidly. There's too much going on inside me for me to think straight. "You said-" my voice cuts off, as I don't know what to say — besides that I'm confused, and that none of this makes even the tiniest bit of sense. Or maybe it does make sense, more than it should, and that's the really scary part.

"I know what I said," he whispers, "and I didn't mean a single word of it. When I said I cheated on you, that I wasn't in love with you, that I found someone else... none of that was true, not in the slightest."

"There were pictures of you in the tabloids," I catch onto him saying he hadn't found someone else, because that I can disprove. I did see the photos with my own eyes.

"What?" He questions, as if he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

"About two weeks after we broke up, there were articles about you and some other girl, rumors that you were dating," I argue, needing to focus on something that's not my conscience desperately trying to convince me that he's not making this up.

"Rumors, Hayley," he reminds me, "the press puts twenty of those out every day, and none of them are true. I didn't even know about that; it must've blown over a couple of days later since all it consisted of was lies. Believe me when I tell you that I wasn't in a place where I could think about being with someone else; I haven't been since I was 15 years old."

"If what you're saying is true, then why didn't you say anything sooner?" I ask. Thinking back to everything I said to him, he must've wanted to tell me on plenty of occasions.

"I didn't want to complicate things any more than they already were. That day I saw you in the diner, I was chasing after you with the intent of telling you, but when I saw Justin I changed my mind. If it was just you, I- I would've told you a lot earlier, but with Justin, I just told myself I'd have to suffer through being around you while you thought I could ever be capable of cheating on you," the corner of my mouth tilts up ever so slightly. That sounds like something he'd do — make things harder for himself just so they'd be easier for others.

No, I have to tell myself. I'm supposed to be moving on. In fact, this very day is supposed to be my first day of this Taylor-free life, and here I am, listening to him tell me that everything I'd thought of him and everything I believed to be true was a lie. And I can't help but want to believe him.

"I can see that you're confused," he says, biting the inside of his mouth. "I have to let the team know if I'm taking the offer to play again in three days. If I don't hear from you by then, I'll know I was too late, and you'll never have to see my face again. Think about it and let me know," he turns away, as if to start walking in the opposite direction from me, but instead turns back around, a gut-wrenching expression on his face. "I never meant to hurt you, Hayley. That was the last thing I ever wanted. I wanted to give you the career you deserved. It wasn't my place to make that decision, and I know that now. I just hope you can see past my mistakes."

That night, I don't get a wink of sleep. Or the night after that, or the night after that, for that matter. To be fair, though, when you find out that over five years of your life has been a lie, it's kind of hard to shut the thoughts down — impossible, actually.

Sometimes I wish someone could just tell me what to think so that I wouldn't have to deal with this. I'm past the stage where I thought that Taylor made all of that up to get me to forgive him, because, number one, I don't remember him ever lying to me — except for that one time, obviously — and number two, he's not a good enough actor to pull what he did off, and finally, number three — the worst part — what he said fits into everything so much better than what he had previously told me, especially after the conversation I had with his mother, and when considering the fact that that phone call was as out of character for him as it ever could've been.

But what are my options now? I can move on like I've been trying to do for the past five years, or give him... what? A third chance? Then again, if there's ever been a situation where these kinds of rules didn't apply, it's probably this one.

I turn the silver bracelet Taylor gave me one Christmas over in my hand, reading the words over and over in my head. I've kept it in the bottom drawer in my closet as long as I've lived here, but this is the first time I've gathered the courage to take it out.

I look at the clock on my bedside table, only to find out that I've been staring at the piece of jewelry for almost an hour now, the time being nine in the morning.

Taylor leaves today. He's probably left already; I wouldn't be surprised. He's got his entire life and very expensive contract back home, so there's no reason for him to stay here.

It's in that very moment — as I inspect the engraving on the precious metal once again — that the thought occurs to me; amongst all of the confusion and deception, I'm forgetting one very crucial part, probably the biggest, most important part of this — Taylor didn't cheat on me. He's stupid, and made a horrible decision without my knowledge, but he didn't cheat on me.

Strangely enough, that realization makes it easier for me to breathe, as if some weight had been lifted off my chest when I didn't even know it was there, and suddenly the world doesn't seem so bad anymore. I stare at the bracelet again and smile subconsciously, remembering the night Taylor gave it to me. It was probably one of the happiest moments of my life at the time, and the more I think about it, the more obvious it becomes that it probably still is, even many years later.

The urge to see him, to ask him the countless questions I still haven't asked him and tell him the million things I need to tell him, grows by the second. And before I know it or have the time to talk myself out of it, I'm sitting in my car, driving to the airport with no actual plan in my head.

After what feels like the longest twenty minutes of my life, I find a parking spot and nearly run to the huge building. As soon as I get inside, I start scanning the screens with upcoming flights. My heart picks up the pace even more when a flight to Nashville appears on one of the TV's. It leaves in thirty minutes, meaning there's a pretty high chance he's already gone through security — which would be game over — not to mention the fact that this probably isn't the only flight to Nashville today, so my chances of finding him here are basically nonexistent.

Nevertheless, though, I jog to the gate, a huge lump in my throat. What the hell will I say? That's if he's even there, which is less than probable. I didn't really think when I decided to do this... I just knew I had to see him. But now that the moment is actually approaching, the holes in my nonexistent plan start growing more and more apparent.

I'm already completely out of breath when I finally make it to gate 4, frantically scanning the hundreds of half-empty seats. I think about calling him after a couple minutes of walking around looking for him, when suddenly, a familiar voice speaks my name.

"Hayley," he says, sounding as if seeing me here knocked him on his knees. He blinks a couple of times in disbelief, his mouth slightly hanging open.

I turn to him, trying to regain my breath. "I was thinking..." I trail off for a second before continuing, "I always complain to myself about everything that's happening in my life, and I blame the universe or whatever I can come up with for it for putting me in these bad situations — but I'm tired. I'm so tired of it, of all of it."

"Okay," he says, slowly.

"I'm taking things into my own hands," I proclaim, but the last word is a little muffled by my lips pressing into his. He's surprised at first, but it takes him only an instant to catch on, his movements matching the intensity of mine as one of his hands makes its way into my hair.

I hear voices around, someone speaking through the speakers with information about upcoming flights, but right now everything is a blur of sounds. The only thing I can actually focus on is how right everything about this feels, how I've craved this exact thing for years but only just now realized that the need was there. I feel like I've been deprived of oxygen for the past five years, and only just now took a breath. Did I plan on doing this? Absolutely not. But was it the best thing I could have come up with? Yes. Absolutely yes.

A week ago, this was the last thing I thought I'd be doing, but a week ago I didn't know that Taylor was always the person I thought he had been. Him doing what he did only proves that. And right now, in this very moment, everything is right in the world.

I grab the collar of his coat and pull him down towards me as I shift on my feet, trying to get better access to his lips. We move against each other the exact same way we used to — it just feels about a hundred times better, and my knees turn weak as I let out a soft moan into his mouth. It's in that moment that I crash down from my high, with the realization that we're still very much in the middle of a semi-crowded space with a lot remaining to talk through. I slowly pull away and bite my lip, the doubts I was able to push away for a couple seconds finally rushing back.

"Okay, not that I'm complaining," he begins, his breath still a little shaky from the kiss we'd just shared, although it's pretty calm compared to mine, "but I'm very confused. You didn't call, so I thought that you wanted nothing to do with me."

"Can we sit down?" I ask, feeling the countless pairs of eyes on my back — any of which could belong to paparazzi. He nods, and we take seats next to each other. "I thought about everything. I literally haven't slept the past couple of nights because I've been thinking so much about everything, and I ultimately decided to not take any more risks, since that only seems to bring more pain."

"So you still want me to go," he says, the disappointment very prominent in his voice.

"No," I reply, quickly, "I don't want you to go." With that, a grin spreads across his face, and his happiness is intoxicating. After a moment of silence, I continue, "I don't know what I want, to be honest. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want to have what we used to again; sometimes I feel like that's all I want. But I just—" I cut myself off.

"You still feel like you can't trust me," he finishes for me, and I nod.

"Yeah," I whisper.

"I think I've made what I want very clear, but I'll be whatever you want me to be. If you need me to be a friend, a father to Justin, I'll be there. And if somewhere down the line you feel like you want to be something more, I'll be there then, too," warmth spreads from my chest all the way into the tips of my toes at that.

"We still need to talk, though," I say, once the butterflies leave my stomach.

"Do you wanna stay here or go somewhere else?" He questions, confirming that he's officially not leaving. I know he basically just told me that a moment ago, but it feels good to know for sure. I haven't even really thought about why I can't quite picture waking up tomorrow knowing I'll probably never see him again, but all I know is that I can't stand the thought of him being gone the next day.

"We should probably go somewhere. I don't want to see myself in another article any time soon, if possible," I answer, knowing full well that we'd made out in the middle of this place, and sticking around would only make the situation worse.

"So, what do you wanna know? Ask me anything," Taylor offers once we enter a random café and pick a table. It's raining again, just like it has been for the past couple of days, meaning both of us got considerably wet before we made it to the door, but the hot chocolate sitting in front of me should be able to fix that.

"What made you think I'd drop out of Julliard if you didn't break up with me? Didn't it cross your mind that I'd talk to you about it first? How was ending it a reasonable solution to you?" I throw the questions at him one after another.

"Well, like I said, Kevin had been drilling into my head, so there was definitely a good amount of manipulation included. And when you mentioned it, I quite literally almost lost my shit. Justin passing was definitely the key factor, though," his brows furrow as he looks away. "I was in a really dark place. Things just kind of seemed... pointless, like nothing I did mattered. So I wanted to do something that would matter, that wouldn't be pointless, because in my head, you'd graduate at the top of your year and become one of the best pianists in the world if I didn't get in the way. And so I couldn't."

"It wasn't your place to make that decision," I comment, internally dealing with the anger sparked in me at the knowledge of him having taken away my chance to talk to him about the issue.

"I know," he says, his voice completely still, "and there's not a day that goes by that I don't regret it."

I take a sip of my hot chocolate to fill the silence. I want to understand him, understand where he's coming from, but I simply can't ever see myself doing what he did. But then again, I didn't go through what he went through.

"What about the other girl?" I question, still unable to let go of the pictures I'd seen after we broke up. I was obviously feeling horrible at that point anyway, but seeing that in the tabloids was a kick to the gut.

"What?" He frowns, but keeps talking right after that. "Oh, right, the pictures. I know you brought it up last time we spoke and I didn't remember, because I didn't even know that any pictures were taken. They were fake; it's not me that you see in them," he says, cleaning up the air.

"Oh," I let out, quietly. I've never considered that option. I looked at those photos countless times, but it never occurred to me that the man wearing a cap and shades could also not even be Taylor, since most of his face was hidden. At least now I'm able to redirect my anger towards the person who'd do that.

"What about your mom? I mean, did you tell her anything at all about the breakup, besides that it happened?"

"Not really, to be honest. I should've; I know it would've made me feel a little better, but feeling anything but horrible just didn't seem like a possibility then, so I didn't see the point. I didn't really tell anyone the truth about it all, now that I'm thinking about it," he goes on.

"So she doesn't know anything about me, or about our relationship, past the summer I stayed with you?"

"Basically, yeah," he nods.

"And your dad?"

"Same thing."

"You have to tell them you have a kid," I tell him.

"I know, I just wasn't sure I should when I first found out, because you hated me, and when we finally started getting closer again, I fucked it all up again. I'll tell them, though. Whenever you're ready."

"What do you want to do now?" I ask. "I mean, you have a contract on the line. Are you going to accept it?"

"Like I said; I'll do whatever you want me to do. I really don't mind a gap year — I was actually kind of looking forward to it, if I'm being honest. But hockey's the only thing that keeps me sane — except for you — so if you don't want me around, then yes, I'll take it," a smile unconsciously makes its way onto my lips, and I have to take another sip of my drink to hide it. "What do you want me to do?" He uses my own question against me, and I choke on the liquid a little bit. I definitely wasn't expecting him to put me on the spot like that.

"Um," I try to calm myself, as I have to cough a couple times to not choke. "I thought about it a lot, and I think you should be in Justin's life," the widest grin forms on his lips as I finish that sentence. "He really likes hanging out with you, and, let's be honest for a second — the kid does love you. As far as the two of us go, I'm still not sure. I guess I'll have to see as time goes on."

He offers me a reassuring smile. "That sounds perfect."  
  
  
  


_6 years ago_

_I trace my fingers over the bumps on the back pocket of my jeans as I lay on my side, facing Taylor, whose eyes are closed, as he's probably half or fully asleep. The birds chirp around us as they enjoy one of the first warm days we've gotten this year just as much as we are, but their sounds are often interrupted by the kids playing not so far away._

_Today is a beautiful day. It's not scorching hot like it sometimes gets in the summer, but it's not cold either — it's just warm enough so that you don't need a sweater or a hoodie. We've had a couple of warm-ish days here and there, but today it finally feels like winter's given up and gave way to spring. Taylor and I decided to skip school because of this very fact, so, in theory, everything should be great. I mean, the two of us lying on the grass in this park just being together is literally my image of a perfect day. But today, it's not._

_That reality creeps up on me again when I can't take it anymore and take the envelope out of my pocket. I found it two days ago, along with the other mail my mother failed to collect for at least three months in a row. At first I was thrilled, since, because of how late it came, I was afraid I wouldn't receive it at all, but when the initial excitement wore off, it dawned upon me just how pivotal this letter is and what it potentially means._

_I'm faced with two options, and I don't want it to be either, because whatever's in that letter means I lose something I love. So I haven't opened it yet, and for two days now it's been lying on my desk, making me feel uneasy without trying. I could've sworn it was watching me._

_I run my finger along the sealed seam of the envelope. It's thin, but that doesn't tell me anything about what's inside, since the contents would be just one sheet of paper no matter which of the two options is written on it._

_"What is that?" Taylor, now awake, questions._

_I jump a little bit, not having expected him to be watching, and put the envelope away on the grass. "Nothing," I mumble. I know that I should tell him; he's the person this letter has the biggest effect on, with the exception of myself._

_"Come on, Hayles," he prods, and I know he has the right to know the truth. I'm just afraid to know it myself._

_I hand him the envelope and he takes it with a frown. "Open it," I say, taking a deep breath._

_"What is this?" He continues to ask._

_"Just open it. I want to get this over with," I practically beg him, needing to know but not having the strength to look at it myself._

_Without another word, he carefully tears the seam open, taking out the single sheet of paper that was stored in the envelope. I lay on my back and busy myself with staring at the clouds so that I don't accidentally get a peek into the contents of the letter._

_He lets out a breath a couple of seconds later, just as I find a cloud that looks very much like an elephant. I try not to let his reaction distract me and gaze into the elephant's 'eyes,' hoping it'll somehow provide me comfort. It doesn't._

_When it starts to feel like he's been quiet forever, I can't contain myself anymore and turn to my side to see his face. His lips are formed into a grin as he reads the couple paragraphs whose shape I can work out from over here, his eyes following the lines. He puts the sheet of paper down just as I'm about to ask him what's taking so long, as my nervousness feels like someone's clutching on my heart and won't let go, making breathing a lot more difficult than it usually is._

_"So?" I demand, my eyes as wide as they can get._

_More air escapes his nose as he smiles widely. "You got it," he says, and everything slows down around me a little as I have a hard time believing what's happening. I got in. I got accepted to Julliard. "I knew you could do it," he exclaims, and rolls over to — almost violently — hug me, the paper with my fate on it still in his hand, probably getting crunched below one of us._

_For a second, I'm happy – ecstatic, actually. I can't believe it. I've dreamt of going there ever since I found out it existed, despite being sure I couldn't get in. But after everyone in my life started convincing me I had a chance, I obliged, applying with a recording of me playing a Bach piece. Not even two weeks later, I received an e-mail with an invitation to a live audition in New York, and for that moment, the dream seemed possible. And now I'm here, having ditched school to find out that the dream is no longer a dream._

_I laugh at Taylor's excitement, mirroring it with my own. He lets me breathe as he stops squeezing my body with his hug, and now he's above me, both of his hands on each side of my head, holding himself up. I get lost in his loving gaze as I run one hand through his hair, swiping it away from his eyes. It is in that instant that the reality of this moment dawns upon me._

_This means we'll be apart. He already got accepted into a college in Atlanta, where he'll be a part-time student — thanks to an offer from a b-league hockey team that he'll also be busy playing for — which means we'll be exactly 746 miles apart every day. And when considering how tight both of our schedules are going to be, I know there's no way either of us will be able to travel that distance any other time than during breaks, meaning I could count the times we'll see each other next year on one, maybe both of my hands._

_"Hey," he says, having noticed just how much my mood had dimmed from the realization. He gently nudges my chin to face him with one of his hands, his eyes offering me comfort. "Don't worry, we can do this. There's nothing in this world that you and I can't overcome."_

_I smile at him sadly, desperately wanting to believe that. "I'll hardly see you."_

_"We'll talk every day," he argues._

_"That's not enough," I reply, knowing very well that texting or face timing him isn't at all comparable to being with him like I am now._

_"Which is why it'll only be temporary."_

_"It's five years," I don't let him continue, "and that's a really long time."_

_"You don't know that. I might get an offer from a team in New York in a couple of months, and we'll be neighbors. Or, when I'm making thousands a night, I'll buy you a really nice apartment and we can live there together," he says with his usual cockiness, assuming he'll be making that much money._

_"But you might not," I pout, hating how he has to be so positive all the time. It's exhausting being skeptical when I spend so much time with Taylor York._

_"But I might," he grins, but his smile isn't enough to force one of my own. "I'm really good at this, you know. Teams will be fighting one another to sign me, so I'll just pick one close to you," it's in that moment that I can't help cracking up at how ridiculously full of himself he sounds right now._

_"I'm scared," I admit, quietly, when the laughter dies out. "I can't lose you. I don't have anyone else."_

_"You won't lose me. Ever," he assures me. "How about this; I promise that in a year from now, we'll be together."_

_"Okay," I say, the tiniest bit of fear leaving me. "It's still five years, though," I remind him._

_"I'll make you the same promise next year," Taylor replies._

_I nod, not completely convinced, but definitely feeling better about the whole thing. He's right; if anyone could make it through all of this, it'd be the two of us._


	11. ten

"Are you nervous?" I ask Taylor, amazed that he, one of the calmest people I know, is tapping his foot, his knee going up and down at a fast rate.

"No," he denies with a scoff, as if what I just said is completely ridiculous.

"You totally are," I giggle and look out of the window of the car, watching the city go by in a blur.

Justin gets back from his trip today, so Taylor and I are picking him up together. That's not at the forefront of my mind, though. Taylor's parents are flying in tomorrow. He called his mother two days ago and told her about Justin. The call wasn't that long and not much explanation was given, but I felt horrible the entire way through, having wanted to listen to the call. Hearing the shock in her voice finding out a secret I kept from her and, even if I had my reasons, I couldn't help feeling guilty. Michelle insisted on booking the closest flight they could to get here and meet Justin. So tomorrow should be interesting.

"Okay, maybe a little," Taylor admits, but his eyes don't leave the road as his hands grip the steering wheel.

"Why? You're, like, the most confident person I know," I question. He hardly ever gets nervous. He's never been overly confident to the point where he's arrogant, although he does play himself up to seem like that quite often — but he never actually means it.

"I'm confident in certain things," he clarifies as if that explains everything. "I'm confident in my abilities as a hockey player, not as a father."

"What do you mean?" I frown as I look for a physical reaction in him, but as expected he's completely still staring onto the road.

"I left, Hayley. For 3 months. That's, like, 3 years to a 4-year-old. What if he doesn't really want to see me anymore?" He asks, and I have to fight the surprise from showing on my face. Since when is Taylor York unsure of himself?

"That's ridiculous, Taylor. Of course he wants to see you. That's basically all he talks about," I reassure him, letting him know his worries are completely unnecessary.

"Are you sure?" He questions, and I nod.

"Absolutely," I confirm, and for the first time his eyes leave the road for a split second to flash me a grateful smile and I realize my hand is resting on his thigh. I quickly retract it, trying to pinpoint the moment I put it there but I find that I can't, mentally cursing my sub-conscience.

I can see Justin's eyes light up as soon as he sees Taylor behind me. He says his father's name, his voice even more high pitched than usual, as he runs and hugs his legs since the boy can't reach higher. Taylor's a bit hesitant at first, but only a moment later he lets a relieved smile spread across his face, embracing Justin back.

"Hey, kid," Taylor laughs a little bit as he speaks, "sorry it's been a while. I had to take care of something."

"I know," the boy replies immediately, "you had to play hockey, mom told me."

With that Taylor shoots me a look and I shrug my shoulders in response. This is a topic we hadn't covered - what I told Justin when he left - because I didn't feel like we needed to.

After that I hug Justin, pressing a kiss into his hair, just now realizing how much I had missed him, and we go to the car. Justin talks to Taylor the entire way there as well as for the duration of the drive back to my apartment, completely ignoring the fact that he's spent this kind of time away from me for the first time in his life. Taylor's thoroughly enjoying himself, answering every question the boy has with a grin on his face and I - even though I don't participate in the conversation almost at all - enjoy every moment of it.

This is exactly what I had dreamed of - a family. The three of us being together has felt suspiciously like one on a couple of specific occasions, but never like this. And now that things with Taylor and I are sorted, I feel like we can finally start working towards that.

When we get home I sit Justin down to tell him about Taylor's parents coming, still a little uncertain about what I'll tell him. I didn't feel the need to prepare for this, because, after all, he is 4, and doesn't question if I introduce 2 middle-aged people to him; he'd much rather show them his baseball bat instead of asking me who they are. I'm planning on when he is the age to ask those kinds of questions he'll already know Taylor's his father, therefore there won't be any confusion.

"Taylor's parents are coming to see us tomorrow evening," I speak, carefully inspecting him for any type of reaction.

He stares back at me for a second before answering. "Cool," he says the simple word, as if not really grasping why I'm telling him such an insignificant fact.

"Cool," I mumble, and I can see Taylor next to me smiling as he keeps being his usual, way too calm, self. Not that I mind this in him - on the contrary. Compared to my overly worrying tendencies, it's a good contrast. In those moments, though, I don't enjoy him not seeing his parents meeting Justin as a big deal.

"Can I go to my room now?" Justin asks, and I nod absentmindedly.

"You know, it would really help if you at least tried to be a little serious about this," I say after Justin leaves.

"I am serious," he defends himself.

"Clearly not enough," I shoot back.

"Hayley," he says my name with a chuckle as his hands gently grab my shoulders, turning me to face him, "don't be nervous. My parents love you."

"Yeah, but that was before they knew I kept a secret like this from them. This is a big deal."

"You kept a secret like that from _me_. And I had it coming. They were just collateral damage," he offers me a comforting look.

"Okay." I nod and hug him without giving it much thought, burying my face into his stone-hard chest while enjoying the smell of his t-shirt way more than I'm willing to admit. He's a little surprised at first but quickly embraces the contact.

"Look at us," he says with a chuckle after we pull away, "30 minutes ago you were trying to convince me that my son doesn't hate me and now I'm doing the same for you with my parents," he comments, and I realize the irony.

"A perfectly dysfunctional family - not that I expected anything else going into this," I reply, finally feeling a little better about the situation as some of the weight lifts off my chest.

When I think about it more, though, the anxiety creeps back in. I'm not that afraid of what Peter will do or think – much like Taylor, he's one of the calmest people I know. The person I am worried about is Michelle. Not only was she like the mother I never had for a long chunk of my life, but I also lied to her face less than a week ago. And though she's always been very understanding of my mess-ups, there's only so far her empathy can go.

But the sight of Justin and Taylor playing with the boy's electric toy car has me smiling through it all. The few times Justin hands his father the controller, Taylor intentionally hits every wall and corner he comes across, making Justin laugh uncontrollably and a couple seconds later taking the controller back and showing him how it's done, unaware of the fact that nothing he can say will have an effect on Taylor enjoying making people around him frustrated — I would know.

"Mom," Justin whines, and I look up from my laptop as I was - yet again, unsuccessfully - browsing job offers the entire time they were driving the toy car. "Taylor won't give me back the controller," his eyes are pleading me to do something about the situation.

I turn my head to look at Taylor, who's grinning like an idiot, the object in question in his hand, prepared to raise his arm into the air again so that Justin can't reach. I'd feel sorry for the kid if I didn't think this is exactly what he'll be like when he's older. "Give it to him, Taylor," I request calmly, but he just tilts his head to the side as if mocking me for expecting he'd make it that easy. I didn't think he would.

"If you want it, come and get it," Taylor holds out his hand, the object in his palm.

Justin frowns as he squints his eyes in his father's direction. Taylor shrugs, his arm still held out, so Justin goes to grab it, only for Taylor to take it out of his reach at the last second. The kid whines again, this time even more frustrated at which point I finally shoot Taylor a look asking him to stop tormenting our son.

"Fine, you can have it," Taylor says, and almost the exact same second his phone rings. He hands the kid the remote and reaches into his pocket for the device.

"Hey mom," Taylor answers, and my throat goes dry at the mention of the woman who undoubtedly hates me. I can faintly hear her voice on the other line, but not nearly loud enough to understand what she's saying. Taylor's brows furrow while Justin drives the car to another room, leaving us the only ones in the living room.

"What do you mean?" Taylor questions, clearly confused about something. "Yes, I know, but you said on Sunday-" he speaks slowly and I can't help listening in on the conversation.

After another long pause of Michelle talking, he lets out a sigh as his hand runs through his hair. "Okay, I'll talk to Hayley and let you know."

At the mention of my name, I raise my head, pretending I hadn't heard the entire conversation up until that point. I watch Taylor quit the call and slide his phone into his jeans, and I can tell he's avoiding looking at me.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"So, um," he says, guilt written all over his face, letting me know I won't like whatever he's about to tell me, "apparently I misheard my mom about the date they're visiting." Taylor elaborates, and I don't need to hear anything else to know just what's happening, but he continues none the less. "They're on their way right now."

I sigh and look at him helplessly. Not that this surprises me in any way - getting things like these wrong always was, and apparently still is, his specialty. That fact doesn't help the situation, though. I guess after spending so much time apart, I grew to stop counting on getting into similar situations thanks to him.

"She said they can come tomorrow if you want, it's not a problem," I ponder the offer for a second but ultimately shake my head. I do have a child with Taylor, so I might as well get used to this.

"It's okay, Justin won't really care if he has to sit here for 30 minutes, and it's better to rip off the bandaid than worry about it and get no sleep tonight," I reply with a heavy exhale.

He nods and texts his mom the update. "Do you hate me?" He questions, anxiously.

"No." I offer him a slight smile. "But I think your parents hate me," the smile quickly fades, as I can't hold back the comment.

"They do not," he rejects my assumption with a chuckle. "Just relax, everything will be fine. I promise."

Despite my attempts, though, and despite Taylor's words that did momentarily make me feel better, when the knock resonated through the apartment and, later, when Taylor went to greet his parents, their voices felt like a hand gripping my heart, squeezing tighter with each word they spoke.

Wanting to delay the inevitable, I, instead of either going to say hi or getting Justin from his room, quickly start for the kitchen to go check on the cookies I quickly tried to make before the Yorks' arrival. I must've underestimated the time it takes for them to cook, though, because when I opened the oven clouds of smoke formed in my face. Coughing, I waved my hand around the smoke in an attempt to get some clean air and reached for the metal tray carrying the, now surely inedible, food.

The very next second a pain shot through my hand, its intensity big enough to reach all the way to my toes. With a yelp, I drop the tray without a single care for anything but the inexplicable sting radiating through my arm.

"Hayley!" I could make out Taylor's voice but didn't have enough space in my head to focus on anything with the exception of getting to the sink and hopefully putting an end to the pain.

As the cold water rushes over my hand I let out a satisfied sigh and my lids become heavy with relief. By the time I muster the courage to actually assess the damage that had been done by the heat, Taylor's already by my side, gently yet firmly demanding to see my hand. I can see his expression go from shock to sorrow as his eyes glide over the several blisters covering my palm, though the sight of the burns isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, judging by the pain that's only second to childbirth.

"What the hell happened?" He questions, and despite everything I find it in me to offer him a shy smile.

"I didn't really realize the tray would be so hot," I reply and in response to my smile, the corners of his mouth curl up slightly, though there's no sign of humor or amusement in his eyes.

"You put it in the oven, Hayley, it's supposed to be hot." he reminds me and if I could manage to think about anything else but the stinging I'd roll my eyes. "Where do you keep bandages?"

"Bathroom, third drawer under the sink."

"Alright, I'll go get them. Keep your hand under cold water until I get back," he says, and before he completely disappears from my vision I hear him say something to Justin who, very likely startled by the noise, is coming straight towards me, worry written over his face.

"Mom, what's going on?" He questions, clearly confused.

"I burnt my hand, but I'll be fine," I offer as enough of an explanation. He doesn't need to hear about how I was acting stupid because I was beyond anxious to see Taylor's parents.

Right. Taylor's parents. Just in time, I turn my head to the side to see them coming from the door after they hung up their coats.

"Hi," I say a little breathlessly, while I completely forget about the pain in my hand. All the scenarios that I had imagined of this going down run through my head. The best was that they'd be happy to see me as well as Justin and we'd get along, and a close second was them not coming at all. This, however, didn't even cross my mind. Not by a longshot. Of all of what I had thought — and I thought a lot about this very moment — the possibility of me dropping a tray with food, burning my hand, and making a complete fool of myself didn't come up.

I can see Michelle's about to say something, but she's interrupted by Taylor's voice carrying from the hall to the kitchen, as well as the living room. "Got them," he proclaims and waves the package of bandages proudly in front of him. He must've noticed the desperate expression on my face because right after that he talks to his parents, who are still a little too stunned by the whole situation to say anything. "You guys can sit on the couch while I help Hayley with her hand."

"How was your flight?" Taylor talks to his parents completely casually as he, much to my dismay, ends the steady stream of water and the pain creeps back as my palm regains heat the same way spiciness comes back after having a drink of water. It doesn't seem as bad at first, but after a moment it starts becoming unbearable again and even worse than before. "Let's take this to the couch," he murmurs into my ear and gestures to the injuries, implying tending to them elsewhere will probably be more comfortable.

"It was good," Peter replies, and the surprise slowly wears off in his voice. It comes right back, though, when his gaze falls on my burns, his expression quickly shifting to shock as Taylor and I sit opposite him and Michelle. "Oh my god, Hayley."

"It's fine," I lie, feeling anything but fine. Not only because I'm now in front of not just one but both the parents of the father of my son who I had kept a secret from them, but mainly because my hand feels like it's on fire.

"That does not look fine," Michelle argues.

"Yeah, it'd probably be better if you took a look at this, mom," Taylor says and scratches at the back of his head. Right, Michelle is a doctor.

She nods, and without hesitation stands up and sits beside me almost forcefully putting my hand into her lap. At the same moment, Taylor stands up and in a couple of seconds comes back with Justin. Both the Yorks' eyes immediately shoot up from whatever they might've been looking at and fix at the boy.

"Justin, these are my parents," Taylor introduces him to the two unfamiliar people, but the kid's eyes keep shifting to my hand.

"Hi," he says shyly after I nudge him on with my best parental expression while experiencing extreme pain.

Peter introduces himself after that and the three of them start talking, but Michelle, being as trained as she is, stays focused on the task at hand. She inspects the damage and I hiss when she turns my hand around as well as when she tries to touch the burns. Her silence while doing this doesn't worry me, though. I've been present when she'd tended to Taylor's hockey injuries more than once and she's never talked during any of them because of her focus being completely on her job.

"I'm pretty positive these are just first-degree burns, but you should be careful none the less, which means the obvious; no exposure to the sun and using the hand as little as possible. Today and probably the entirety of tomorrow as well you should keep some sort of wet cloth on it to try to keep the swelling down as much as possible."

"Thanks," I reply reluctantly, mentally preparing myself for whatever else she has to say. How I'm a horrible person for keeping this from her, for keeping from this Peter, from Taylor even, that very nervousness making me completely numb to the pain in my arm.

But she doesn't say any of that. In fact, she says something completely unrelated. "It's pretty brave, what you did."

I blink at her several times, having a hard time interpreting that sentence, meanwhile, she carefully wraps the bandage around my wrist, making her way up to the rest of my hand. "What do you mean?"

"Deciding to do all of this alone. Having a child, I mean. That's no easy task, and from the looks of it, you handled it just as well as I would've thought you would. That must've been really hard for you. Knowing your mother, I'm guessing she wasn't present," she speaks sternly, but the wrinkles around her eyes indicate the same kindness she always displays in them.

"Wait," I stop her with a frown, not quite comprehending her words. "You're not mad at me?"

The corners of her mouth twitch up just little enough for me to notice. "I'm certainly not happy about what happened, but if someone's to blame here, I'm afraid it's my son. I mean," something resembling sadness, maybe guilt even, flashes through her eyes, "I can't imagine what you must've been going through with all of those things happening at once."

I have to remind myself to stop staring as the shock slowly wears off. Well, that's certainly not what I thought she'd say. "Thanks," I let out a soft chuckle as the relief spreads through me. I look down at my hands and only then am I reminded about the injury yet again, now fully realizing the extent of the burns as well as the pain that comes along with them. They don't cover my palm as much as my fingers - the parts that I'd tried to grip the tray with - though almost all of it is covered with the white bandages.

"And try not to hold this against Taylor. I never thought I'd say that - believe me - but in his own messed up way, he thought he was doing the right thing. Good intentions, stupid execution, and an even stupider train of thought that got him there. But at the end of the day, he was just being the person I've always known."

She nods slowly with a thoughtful look as she takes in my words, most likely just as startled by them as I am. Saying that certainly wasn't the plan, but it felt surprisingly good getting that out. "I guess we haven't talked about this enough for me to completely understand the situation yet," with that she finishes wrapping up my hand, so I retract it and shoot her a grateful glance, mumbling a 'thank you'.

I still find it a little hard to believe that in all those years Taylor hasn't told even the people he's closest to how he ended our relationship. Was it because he was ashamed? Or maybe the memory was too painful to even think about - I can definitely relate to that.

"I also wanted to say sorry for lying to you when we saw each other in Nashville. I would've told you, but then I found out Taylor didn't talk to you about anything, and I kind of made the decision that it wasn't my place to spill that kind of information. I know that's not really an excuse, but still," I trail off slowly, hoping for her to say something. Anything, really.

"You don't have to apologize, Hayley, I understand. Though I don't know much about everything that happened between you and Taylor - hardly anything, to be honest - I know you wouldn't withhold the truth unless you had a good reason."

Michelle looks as if she's about to say something more, but she's interrupted as both of our heads turn in the direction of Taylor's voice. "Hayley, am I a cheater?" He calls out the completely random question, and both Justin, as well as Peter, look at me expectantly, having probably been in an argument about something related to Taylor's question up until now.

I squint, trying to come up with the right answer. What the hell is that supposed to mean? He can't be talking about when he said he'd cheated on me during our break-up. "Justin keeps saying I cheated with his toy car this morning, which is obviously ridiculous," he explains, and I quickly fill in the gaps about their argument

"I mean, you did keep taking the controller from him," he puts a hand to his heart as if I've betrayed him in the worst way imaginable - though I can tell that's not actually how he feels - while Justin celebrates his victory with Peter. If there's one thing the kid might've been better off not getting from his father, it's the undying competitiveness.

The rest of the evening goes way better than I envisioned – true to Taylor's promise. Except for the occasional wincing whenever the burning sensation got unnecessarily stronger, I was enjoying myself, enjoying the feeling that finally, after a long time, I had a family that extended past my son.

I underestimated how much I had missed Taylor's parents until seeing both of them today. At first, their company felt a little strange. I hadn't shared Justin with anyone, really, except for the times Ashley had watched him, a duty she's now free of thanks to Taylor's return and my unemployment. But after a short while, it felt like I was back in the Yorks' living room all those years ago, avoiding my mother and talking about anything that came to mind.

It was all strangely familiar, this warm feeling of stability – something not even Taylor's and, at the time, certainly not my mother's company could completely suffice for. And, as it turns out, it's a feeling I unknowingly needed, something I can only hope I provide for Justin.

It was a completely different kind of warmness than the one in my hand, though, a fact that made its presence known each time I attempted to pick up more than one coffee cup or a plate and bring them back to the kitchen. Taylor's parents ended up staying quite a bit longer than they had planned for, and I already couldn't wait to go to bed and finally, after so many restless nights, get some sleep.

Only then it occurred to me that I no longer had something to worry about. Taylor was back, Justin was happy, and so seemed his grandparents. There was nothing for me to fix or dread the arrival of. Except, of course, for my mother, but if I had to obsess everything that could go wrong as far as she goes, I wouldn't have a life. I still have to ask her about the whole ordeal surrounding our used-to-be house in Nashville, but other than that, there was nothing.

"Hey, give me that," Taylor interrupts my revelation as he reaches for the dishes I was about to take to the kitchen, "my mom said to be careful with your hand."

"Taylor, I'm perfectly capable of holding a cup," I argue, but give it to him nonetheless, secretly happy for the help – a fact I don't plan on telling him.

"I'm sorry, what exactly was the question?" He asks, and I just roll my eyes in annoyance but decide not to keep the argument going. "Didn't think so," he mumbles, but the words aren't quiet enough for me not to hear.

I'm about to quickly dismiss my initial plan of not talking back, but at that same moment, Justin emerges from the hall in his pajamas. "Did you brush your teeth?" I inquire suspiciously, knowing full well that if I tell him more than one thing he usually picks one and forgets the rest, so the fact that he's already changed is an indication that he probably didn't brush his teeth.

"Yeah," he says, proudly. I narrow my eyes at him, finding it hard to believe, but his expression doesn't waver like it usually does when he's lying.

"Okay, just give me a minute and I'll go tuck you in," I tell him, wanting to clean up the mess in the living room first.

"Like how long?" He questions, clearly unhappy with what I'd just asked him to do.

"I don't know, Justin, not long," I breathe out a heavy sigh, the tiredness just then getting to me.

"I can do it," Taylor chimes in, innocently.

I shift my gaze on him to find him looking back at me with a hopeful smile.

"Sure," I say, as Justin jumps with happiness.

"Alright, let's go," Taylor says and picks the boy up in his hands, flinging him over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing. Justin laughs and tries to struggle out of his grip, but his attempts are useless.

"Goodnight," I tell him, and he replies with the same words, though they are a little muffled by Taylor's shoulder.

Two minutes and six trips to the kitchen with dirty dishes later, Taylor comes back, immediately taking anything I was holding from me, and this time I don't even bother to protest.

"That kid has so much energy," he says while blowing out air through his mouth and heavily sitting down on the couch in the freshly cleaned living room.

"Yeah, I wonder who he gets that from," I reply with a chuckle and sit next to him.

He offers me a daring look at first, but it leaves him. "I guess that's fair."

Another heavy wave of my body begging for sleep crashes over me and without thinking about it I snuggle into Taylor's side. Normally I'd be much more aware of my actions and would certainly not hug his chest like I seem to be doing now, but subdued by the relief of today going better than I could've imagined as well as the force pulling my lids down making it extremely hard for me not to close my eyes, I can't bring myself to care. Without question or hesitation, he quickly relaxes as his warm hand rests on my shoulder.

"You know," he begins, and, though I can't see his face, there's a subtle undertone of nervousness when he speaks. I almost expect him to change his mind and just not say anything with how long the break is before he continues, but he goes on. "We never really talked about what happened at the airport."

"What do you mean?" I ask, after subconsciously breathing in his scent, very likely enjoying the smell a lot more than I should.

"You kissed me," he clarifies, as I run my finger along the neckline of his t-shirt with my good hand. "Why?" He fills the silence with his question after I don't say anything, though he was clearly expecting me to.

"'Cause I wanted to," I reply, that being the only acceptable answer currently coming to my mind, which speaks volumes about just how non-functional my brain is right now.

"Okay," he trails off, and his expectant silence forces me to at least try to think of a half-reasonable thing to tell him, though I'd much rather dodge the question. But he speaks first before I have the chance to provide any sort of explanation. "I mean, is that the only reason? I honestly don't know what to think. And I don't want this to sound like I'm pushing you to do something, I just want to know how you feel and what you expect me to do."

Biting the inside of my mouth, I look away. It's a fair question. He has the right to know where we stand. I wish I knew. The answer I gave him before is true – I did want to kiss him then, more than anything. I might even want to kiss him now, but I don't allow my mind to wander there. Why, though? What kind of a question is that? It might be because of how soft his lips look in the dim light of the only lamp left on in the living room, or the fact that he smells like home, or the fact that being in his arms like I am right now is a feeling of complete safety and stillness I haven't felt in years — not like this, at least.

And just like that, I'm staring again. And not just anywhere; I'm intensely staring at his mouth. Grateful for the lack of light hiding the blush that's undeniably found its way into my cheeks, I quickly avert my gaze, racking my brain for something logical to say. I have to lean away, since his presence is preventing me from thinking clearly, finally gathering the courage to look into his eyes. They're searching mine for something I can't quite identify. "I-" I open my mouth to speak, but no words seem to come to me. "I don't know," I finally say, not proud of my answer.

Taylor seems to accept it, though. His mouth forms a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's getting late. I should get going," he says while getting up. "I had a great time today, I hope we can do something like this again."

"Yeah," I mumble, and with way more effort than I'd normally use, I get up off the couch.

With a few quick steps around the apartment, he starts gathering his things, but it's not until he's almost at the door that I finally manage to speak. "I wish I could say something better, Taylor, but right now everything's so all over the place I just don't know what to say."

He finishes tying up one of his shoes and looks at me, his eyes oddly soothing, and nods.

"I think I need to heal. It just takes time," I almost whisper the last part, though I was already talking really quietly, thanks to Justin having gone to sleep.

"I know." He takes a few slow strides towards me while still only wearing one of his shoes. "I know," he repeats, as his hands rest on my cheeks. For a split second, I think he's actually going to kiss me, but that suspicion is quickly proven wrong as his lips brush over my forehead softly. After that, he steps away and finishes putting on his other shoe.

"Goodnight," he whispers and leaves.  
  
  


_6 years ago_

_"I'm pretty sure that's the last of it," Taylor says as he closes the trunk of his dad's car with a single box in his arms._

_I nod and we start making our way towards his dorm. The whole campus is pretty nice - it's spacious, new and the whole place just feels strangely welcoming. But I guess that's what a scholarship like Taylor's gets you. The B-league team he was just signed by offered to pay for almost all of his college expenses, which is great._

_But I just can't bring myself to be happy about this. On the one hand, I'm excited, ecstatic even. Not just for Taylor finally getting to live his dream, but for myself. I've wanted to go to Julliard basically the entirety of my life and now that it's finally happening, I couldn't be happier that the fantasies I used to have about getting in are finally true._

_But then I think about just how far Taylor and I will be from each other and the happiness evaporates as quickly as it came and the vicious cycle repeats. I have better and worse days and when we're together everything's fine, but when he leaves and there's nothing to occupy my mind the doubts settle back in. I can't quite point my finger on it, but somewhere in the pit of my stomach, this feels like the beginning of the end._

_"Stop worrying," Taylor tells me as we enter his building. "You've had that scowl permanently stuck on your face since you found out you got into Julliard. It's not healthy."_

_"I just hate that I'll be so far away from you," I answer and pick something up from the last box he's carrying containing his things. It's a framed photo of the two of us from a little before the summer break. We skipped out on school that day, which was Taylor's idea. He wouldn't tell me anything about what he wanted to. Instead, he dragged me around a Walmart and bought a very unnecessary amount of eggs, a couple of which cracked before we got anywhere with them. The entire time he seemed scarily excited about whatever his plans were, unlike me._

_Then we went to Mr. Brown's house, a teacher who almost made Taylor repeat his senior year thanks to his hate for athletics or anything connected to sports, and I was told the plan of egging his house, which was essentially a glorified revenge fantasy for Taylor. But I didn't complain, especially when I thought of how worried Taylor was of having to repeat the year when he had a C from history, Mr. Brown's subject, which isn't even that bad. But we weren't though even half of our egg supplies when someone started shouting at us. Turns out Mr. Brown wasn't at school that day._

_Needless to say that that's a day I won't forget. In fact, that's one of the fondest memories I have from that period of my life – high school. I don't remember the last time I felt that rush of adrenalin, which is kind of sad given I was just egging someone's house. But that was probably my first and only experience of being a dumb, irresponsible teenager._

_I smile at the memory as Taylor speaks. "Yeah, me too," he says with a sigh and pushes the door to his room open with his back since his hands are full with the box. After placing the things on the pile with cardboard boxes, he looks at what I'm holding and grins. "That was a fun day."_

_"I can't believe you convinced me to do that," I reply with a chuckle._

_"Um, I didn't have to convince you to do anything. You were eager to do it."_

_I offer him a sarcastic smile in response, secretly admitting that there's more truth to that accusation than I'm willing to tell him, and put the picture on his bedside table. The room itself is bigger than I thought a dorm would be if only for the fact that it has its own stove and a bigger than necessary bathroom. He does have a roommate, though, whom I have yet to encounter._

_"Want me to help you to unpack?"_

_"Don't you have to be getting back to New York?" he asks and I wish he hadn't. I know that me leaving is inevitable, but being reminded of it makes it seem more real each time._

_"Not for another few hours," I reply with a heavy exhale and carefully try to take the tower or cardboard boxes apart without disrupting its balance, cautious of how fragile the structure is._

_"Shit I just remembered I left my hockey bag in the car. I'll go get it," Taylor says out of nowhere and I flash him a smile before he disappears into the hallway._

_Not a minute of me sorting through his things goes by, though, and I already hear him opening the door. "Did you forget the keys?" I question given it's not possible for him to be back so fast since it takes longer to get to the parking lot and back. I'm already looking over the bed to find his keys when an unfamiliar male voice speaks._

_"No?" It's only then that I finally turn around, realizing it's not Taylor who'd just entered the room. We stare at each other before he laughs awkwardly and leans his body into the doorway. "I'm sorry, are you my roommate? Because, no offense, but I find that very unlikely."_

_"Oh," I let out, realizing that's who this guy must be – the roommate. "No, I go to college in New York," I reply._

_"So..." he speaks slowly, even more confused than before._

_"I'm helping my boyfriend move in, he should be back in a minute," I reply and he visibly relaxes as the tension leaves his shoulders._

_"Okay, that makes so much more sense. I was told the guy sharing my dorm got the same hockey scholarship like me, so seeing you was a little confusing."_

_"Yeah," I chuckle awkwardly._

_Just as the uncomfortable silence settles in Taylor enters the room, much to my relief, with the huge bag with his hockey equipment slung over his shoulder, holding four hockey sticks in his hands. "Hayles can you help me with this?" he asks, gesturing towards the sticks so I go take half of them from him and place them somewhere in the middle of his boxes._

_"Hey," the other guy speaks as Taylor notices him. "I'm Shane, I'm pretty sure you're my roommate," he offers him his hand and thanks to me taking his sticks he can shake it._

_"Taylor," he says his name with a kind smile._

_"Are you from New York?" Shane asks and Taylor frowns at him._

_"No I'm from Nashville," Taylor answers, confused by the sudden question._

_"Oh your girlfriend said she goes to college there so I was just asking since I lived there for most of my life," he clarifies._

_"I'm starting my freshman year of college there, but I'm from Tennessee," I add to the conversation._

_"Which college?"_

_"Julliard," I reply while trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why I'm having small talk with this stranger or why he's interested in knowing where I go to school, given he met me literally three minutes ago._

_"That's not easy to get in to," he looks a little shocked as he speaks._

_"It wasn't," I say._

_"Well I'll leave you two to it, I still have to sign in and bring my stuff. It was nice meeting you," the guy says after another moment of silence and leaves._

_"What just happened?" Taylor asks with a chuckle._

_"I have no idea, but he seems nice enough, which I cannot say about my roommate," I think back to the girl who took up not three, not four but five of the six drawers in our unfortunately shared dorm bathroom._

_"Oh come on, I'm sure you two will get on just fine," he tries to convince me while his hands rub my arms that are crossed over my chest._

_"You haven't seen her. She studies viola, I think that says it all."_

_"I never understood why everyone hates the viola so much," he comments and I shake my head._

_"You wouldn't get it," I answer and get out of his grip on me to look over the mess. "Do you want me to help you unpack?"_

_"No, I can do that by myself," I suck in a breath as his hands rest on my sides, his chest pressing into my back "we can go get lunch if you want. I'm exhausted from carrying all those boxes."_

_"Okay," I nod and lean into him, savoring everything about him while I still can. "We'll be fine, right? This won't drive us apart," I ask him for a confirmation that I desperately need right now._

_"Yeah," he murmurs into my ear "we'll be fine."_


	12. eleven

The following weeks go by in a haze.

Everything seems normal, or at least as normal as my life can be. Taylor and I are on good terms, though the conversation we shared about the kiss — as well as the kiss itself — still seems to be the elephant in the room. A very small one, granted, but it still feels like whenever Taylor says something, the silence that follows should be filled by one of those dreaded questions, like 'why did I do it?' or something of the sort.

He never asks them, though. Ever since I told him I needed space he's been utterly quiet — too quiet for his standards. Every time I search his eyes for those unsaid words, he just offers me a tight-lipped smile and goes on to do whatever he might be doing. And a part of me, a very big part, is glad. Glad to not have to worry about it, glad that I asked him to give me time and he actually listened. He didn't completely neglect my wishes nor did he shut down and leave like last time. He simply doesn't bring it up anymore. And that's not to say I don't wish he could just spit it out sometimes, or that I don't consider asking him to finally say what's on his mind — but that part heavily outweighs the cons of him keeping it in. And as selfish as that might be I can't get force myself to face my feelings; it's too hard, too confusing.

Taylor's parents stayed for a couple more days and paid us one more visit before leaving, though they are coming back again pretty soon. Justin seems to like them and they really seem to like him, so I'm beyond happy. Taylor's been watching him more frequently lately, specifically whenever I go to yet another failed job interview, which is exactly what's happening today.

And then there's my mother. Ever since the Garrett incident — as I've been calling it — I've been more than reluctant to reach out, which I cannot say for her. I wouldn't call her everlasting determination to make her existence known to me via texting and calling as her blowing my phone, but it's pretty damn close. Little does she know I have questions for her she might not want to answer.

Before receiving that mysterious phone call about our old house and going to Nashville I was hoping to avoid seeing her, but now I'm kind of curious — though I'm aware it probably won't actually be anything. I've had a good amount of conversations with the real estate agent since coming home about selling the house, but he's made it crystal clear several times that he doesn't know anything about my father. So today I'll ask.

"Hi, mother," I greet her, though my greeting comes out a little colder than I had intended it to. Impersonal, if you will, but it's been that way for too long to go back now.

"Hayley, how are you? It's been a while, which is no fault of mine," she hands me some questionable coffee, and I silently regret asking her to buy it for me.

"I'm pretty good," I answer as we make our way through the park, ignoring her jab at me. Taking a sip of the latte, I come to the conclusion that it's actually not horrible, and it's hot — which, in this November weather, is a quality I cherish.

After about 10 minutes of actually somewhat pleasant conversation, that undertone in her voice indicating she's aware she's on thin ice with me makes an appearance again. "You know I wish we could see each other more often, but you're always busy," she comments, her tone suggesting that me being busy isn't actually what it seems. She's right, of course, but that doesn't make me any less annoyed.

"Yes, well, being a single parent isn't like a 9 to 5," I shoot back, though I'm exaggerating the situation. Since Taylor's been around, I've had plenty of time to do whatever I want. Spending time with my mother, however, didn't fit that category, so it happens.

"Which is why you should bring Justin with you. I'd love nothing more than to see him."

"After what you pulled last time I did that? No way," I raise my eyebrows, still astounded at this woman. No matter how long I've known her or how many times we've argued, she still manages to surprise me, somehow.

I don't think she was always like this. When dad was around, things were different. Or maybe she had always been like this. This version of her that's completely unaware of other people may have simply been subdued by dad's presence. Or it wasn't, and I just didn't notice it.

"I keep telling you to give Garrett another chance. He really has changed." I roll my eyes in response, convincing myself it's better not to say anything. "But I don't want to argue; I just want to spend some quality time with you while I still can."

I'm about to reply when I think about what she said. "What do you mean 'while you still can?'"

She lets out a heavy breath and sits on a bench, so I rest next to her, awaiting her answer while already having about a hundred possibilities floating around in my mind. "We're going back to Nashville," she announces, looking at me as though she's bracing herself for my reaction.

'We're going back to Nashville' - meaning her and Garrett. I guess I should've seen it coming, given I've gone for years without seeing her once. Though after being so adamant about spending time with Justin, I guess I expected her to make more of an effort. But that's my mother. Never sticks with anything for a longer period of time.

"Are you going to say something?"

"Uh," I search for the right thing to say, "when are you leaving?"

"In two weeks. I mean, Garrett never wanted to be here, but he stayed in Portland because of me. He has a great place in Nashville and he really wants to go back. And honestly, so do I," she gives me the explanation I didn't ask for, and I nod.

This is a good thing; I know that. She's a bad influence on me and an even worse one on Justin with the people she keeps around her. But hearing that she's leaving still for some reason caught me off guard, and I feel strangely unhappy about it. I know there's nothing to miss about her constant need to text me or her completely disregarding anything I say... but she's still my mom.

"Good luck," I say, and then try to shake myself free of the strange feelings.

"On another note," she begins, "how are things with Taylor? Are you two still talking?"

The sentimentality I'd just felt quickly evaporates with the accusation on that question. I could say no and leave on a good note, or I could tell her the truth, which I'm honestly not sure what that would be. _We kissed, but we're not together. Also, he spends, like, every other evening with Justin or me, so yes, I'd say that we're still talking._ Yeah, 'cause that wouldn't make her lose her mind.

I don't really gain anything from lying to her except for sparing myself the headache, though. Imagining the inevitable scenario when she does visit again and finds out that I lied to her seems much worse than anything that could happen now, so looking for the right way to put everything, I prepare myself for her reaction.

"Yeah," I say, having given up on trying to come up with a better answer.

"Care to elaborate on that?" She asks after a good while of uncomfortable silence, and I don't even have to face her to know about the disapproving look she's giving me.

"What do you want me to say? You don't like him, I'm very aware of that, but he's been really good to me lately. Justin loves him and I actually get some free time when they're together."

"I guess I just find it hard to believe you can forgive him after what he's done," she replies, the disdain towards Taylor very clear in her voice.

"Yeah, about that," I start, and delay continuing by drinking my coffee, "he kind of lied about that."

"That's surprising," she cuts me off, but I ignore her sarcasm and go on.

"He didn't actually cheat on me. He was worried I'd quit Julliard to be with him, so he broke up with me before I could do that."

After that, she stares at me for a second as if trying to find a way to believe me, but ultimately failing. "And you actually think he's telling the truth?"

"Yes, I do," I reply simply, but I know there's more coming, so, finally bringing up what I've been wanting to talk about with her, I don't give her the space to talk. "While we're on the topic of truth; what happened with our house in Nashville?"

She seems a little taken aback by the sudden change of topic as her eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

"I got a call about a month ago about it. Apparently, since you re-married after dad died, it was written in my name. And the real-estate agent said dad bought it two years before he passed. Now, that confused me for two reasons — number one being that I was under the impression we were just renting the house, since that's what you told me when we moved there, and number two, why would dad buy it two years before he died? He wasn't an investor, and as far as I know, we didn't have that much money just laying around to buy a house nobody was going to live in," I give her the time to explain, but she doesn't. Instead, she just looks to the side with a thoughtful expression, as if hoping I'll somehow forget about this. "Well? Do you want to explain something?"

"It's really not that big of a deal," she says, but her words come out smaller than usual, guilty, something I've witnessed only very few times. "Your father bought the house for us to live in. We were supposed to move right away, but obviously that wasn't possible," she trails off, referring to her addiction, but the confusion doesn't recede - the opposite.

"Why would he do that?"

"He had cancer, Hayley. He wanted a place for us to live in once he was gone," she tells me, but I shake my head.

"No he didn't, he had a heart attack," I try to convince her of the information I've lived with for over half of my life — the truth.

"He lied to you. We lied to you," my mother replies sadly, and for the first time in a long time, it's me yelling at her, not the other way around.

"What?" I question. That can't be right. There's no way they would've lied to me about something like that. And if, in some alternate reality, they did, they would've told me about it by now. But all I have to do is take one look at her guilt-stricken face to know she's telling me the truth. "Why?" I don't bother trying to keep my voice down.

"You were just a kid, we didn't want you to live with that kind of information. So we decided it'd be better if you didn't know until the end. It was Joey's idea. He found a buyer for our old house once we moved out and bought the new one so that we'd have a fresh start."

I stand up from the bench, speechless. There she goes again. And, again, I'm surprised at what she's capable of. After all these years, I'm still surprised. "Goodbye, mother," with that I turn to leave and don't look back.

\------------

"Hi, T," I greet him, and his head shoots up from the sandwich he's making, a smile on his face. That smile fades, though, as I approach the bar, placing my keys and my phone on there with a sigh, not bothering to hide the exhaustion or the effect this morning has had on me.

He's about to ask me something, but Justin's voice resonates through the apartment before he has the chance to. "Mom, Taylor and I built a fort, come and see it!"

"In a little bit, kid," Taylor answers for me, and goes around the counter to hand Justin the plate with the sandwich cut in half. "Why don't you go and work on it some more?" Not being wise enough, the kid doesn't think much about it, and, taking what I presume is his lunch, he goes back to his room.

"What's going on?" Taylor questions once Justin is out of earshot.

"I need an Advil," I say, taking a few quick steps to reach the bottle on one of the top shelves of the kitchen — out of Justin's reach — and pouring myself a glass before swallowing the pill, hoping to at least make the migraine somewhat go away.

I still haven't exactly figured out what's going on, myself. The entirety of the drive here I thought about what the hell happened this morning, but came up short. _'Why?'_ is the most prominent question on my mind. Didn't they think I deserved to know? And apparently, it was my dad's idea. I wouldn't've been as shocked if it came from her, but he of all people should've had more faith in me. And yes, of course, it crossed my mind that my mother made that up, but from the way she said it, I don't think she did. I've gotten pretty good at telling whenever she's bullshitting and this just didn't seem like the case. I don't think she's twisted enough to disrespect his memory like that.

I look up from the ground to see Taylor's worried eyes scanning my face expectantly. I almost forgot he was here. "I had coffee with my mother," I clarify. And though I know that that's kind of self-explanatory as far as the headache goes, today's different, as there's so much more.

"Oh, that makes sense. I thought you were down because of the job interview," he comments, and I freeze for a split second, slowly placing the glass on the counter.

Right. The interview. The one I forgot about because of my mother's lies. The one I was supposed to get to five minutes ago. "I didn't go to the interview."

"What? Why not?" He inquires as a frown makes its way onto his face.

"I forgot about it," I offer an explanation, but it doesn't seem to have helped to clear up his confusion. "My mother had some interesting things to say and I got distracted."

"You got distracted," he trails off, and I take it as my cue to explain.

"Well, first she told me she's moving back to Nashville with Garrett," I approach the topic carefully, knowing full well just how unwelcome it is for Taylor.

His posture goes a little rigid at the mention of Garrett's name, and he scoffs. "Of course she is. Leave it to Cristi Williams to make the worst decision possible at every turn."

"That's not the worst of it, though," I say to catch his attention before he goes on a rant about my mother — which would be understandable, but right now I want to talk or think about her as little as possible. "I asked about that whole ordeal about the house in Nashville being bought long before dad died," my hand comes to my temple in a failed attempt to rub out the migraine or to somehow form all the thoughts in my head into a coherent sentence. "So apparently he bought it for me and my mom to move into to have a fresh start."

"But that makes no sense," he says, before I gathered myself enough to continue.

"I'm getting there. Basically," the word falls out of my mouth, but I come up short with what to follow that up with. I can't explain something when I can hardly fathom the whole thing myself. "My dad had cancer and knew he'd die, so that's why he bought it."

Taylor's mouth falls open slightly as he stares at me in disbelief. "What?"

"Yup. My mother just now thought to tell me. After over a decade, it only just now crossed her mind that I _might_ want to know. Now, actually, scratch that — I'm absolutely sure she wouldn't've told me had I not asked her about it. She'd probably have taken that to her grave," I do my best to contain myself, but the inevitable rise of my voice forces Taylor to flinch, which I notice from the corner of my eye as my gaze is fixed on the kitchen counter.

Without a warning or an indication about what he's planning on doing, Taylor's arms wrap around my body, and without thinking, I lean into the embrace, finally finding at least a sliver of comfort. His hands rub gentle circles into my back as I press my head into his chest, letting all of the frustration out, though I think I'm still mostly in denial.

"I'm sorry, but—" I feel the vibration as he talks, sending a strange kind of shiver through me, "your family gets more screwed up every time you talk about them."

Needing to stop dwelling on the events of this morning, I pick up on the tiny hint of humor he spoke with. "You still haven't met my grandparents in Franklin. My mother's side," I whisper into his collar bone, wondering if he feels the same kinds of shivers his voice sent through me. I hope he does.

"I didn't know you had more family in Franklin," he replies.

"That's because we don't keep in touch. But if you think my mother's a riot, you have no idea what they're like," I can't help but chuckle at the idea of Taylor meeting my grandparents. He'd be so out of his element and uncomfortable that I actually think it'd be kind of hilarious.

"Do I even want to know?" He questions, and I suck in a breath as his hand rests on my hip — more specifically on the spot that my shirt doesn't completely cover, exposing bare skin.

"They'd disown me if they knew I kissed a boy before we got married," I steady my voice before talking, suddenly very aware of the butterflies in my stomach, the kind I haven't felt in so long — and the kind I only ever felt with him.

A laugh resonates through his body, and I thoroughly enjoy the sensation. "Is it really that bad?"

"You have no idea," I mumble. "But you don't have it much better. Don't forget, I've met literally your entire family at the two Christmases I spent at your house. Your Uncle Gary totally freaked me out."

"Who?" My heart rate picks up as his hand shifts in its place, his hold on me tightening ever so slightly.

I think harder about that party where the particularly strange part of Taylor's family got together to sing country songs and try to picture the guy who freaked me out, but can't quite come up with a picture of his face or recall his name. Maybe his name was Larry? "Nevermind," I give up, now doubting the uncle's existence.

"Anyway," Taylor clears his throat, clearly amused by my lack of knowledge about his family. He pulls away slightly to look at me, which is when I notice the excitement in his eyes as he's about to continue. "I have something to brighten your mood."

"Doubtful," I huff, not welcoming the reminder of this morning.

He leans back and presses a hand onto his heart, faking being hurt. "If you're this ungrateful, I can just take my surprise to someone who'll appreciate it."

"Taylor, you know I hate surprises," I whine, feeling a strange sense of curiosity. I usually avoid surprises at all costs since the uncertainty connected with them drives me crazy, but this is different — somehow better.

"Well, you'll love this one. I promise."

"But-" I don't get to continue as Taylor's index finger lands on my lips, completely silencing me.

"Will you shut up and let me do something nice for you?"

"Okay, then give it," I swallow hard, doing everything I can to dismiss the jumble of nerves his touch on my lips caused.

"Oh no, it's not an object. You'll have to go to Seattle with me," he tries to say more, but I don't let him.

"What? Why?" I ask, finally breaking the hug to finish my glass of water and also because the feeling of his hands on me was clouding my mind.

"Everything's taken care of. My parents are flying in, so they'll watch Justin overnight. Unless you want to drive through the night — I guess that's cool, too. I didn't have to book a hotel since I have an apartment up there from one of my many recovery stops I took last year."

"Overnight? What the hell are we going to do overnight in Seattle?" I question, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Just trust me when I say you'll love it," he begs me with his eyes, but I can't hold his gaze and look away. "Come on, Hayley. You need a break from this job searching, family issues life you lead."

I think about it for a second. I know Justin will be fine with Taylor's parents; that's not the issue here. But the idea of staying overnight with him — just him — in an empty apartment frankly makes me nervous. And not the kind of nervous you feel before taking a test; the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach is the kind I'd expect to be experiencing before a first date.

The strangest thing, though, is that that doesn't bother me.

"Okay, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but," he looks to the side, a pained expression etched over his features, "if you agree to come with me, I'll let you teach me piano, and I will accept the humiliation without complaining."

I have to smile when he says that, recalling the total of two times I've tried to teach him something on the piano. Both times, because he was doing horrible, Taylor called the instrument dumb and walked away. I don't think he enjoyed the experience much, but it was nothing short of hilarious from my point of view.

And so I agree to go on this trip to Seattle, still completely oblivious as to why it's happening or what we'll do there. Taylor seems ecstatic, though, so that makes the whole waiting game a little better. He even lets me choose the music we play in his car.

"So are you actually going to tell me what you plan to do once we get to the city? Or do you enjoy keeping me in the dark while I silently suffer?" I ask sharply, looking at him from the passenger seat. We're about halfway through the three-hour drive and it's already past 7 pm.

His lips quirk upwards as he watches the road ahead. "You'll find out when we get there," he says calmly. It's only then that I notice the angle at which the moonlight hits his face, the way it brings out the sharp outline of his eyebrows, as well as the short hairs covering the lower half of his face. The only thing in his eyes is the moon's reflection, highlighting the soft but defined edges of his face, making it utterly impossible not to stare.

He's grown so much from the boy I used to know. There's a few barely visible wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of his mouth where there didn't used to be, and the easiness that used to be his default expression has turned more serious. It doesn't make him less attractive — just more mature, older. His eyes have slightly narrowed over the years, and he lets his hair grow out a little more, which is something he definitely has my approval on.

"You're staring," Taylor brings me back to reality with two simple words.

I quickly turn my head to look outside the window. "I'm not," I defend myself, despite being aware that there's nothing I could say to convince him of my lie.

"Look, I know I'm irresistible, but—" he doesn't get to finish stroking his ego as the sudden strange sounds coming from the car interrupt him, shortly followed by us slowing down until we come to a stop.

"What just happened?" I question, looking around the empty road.

"I have no idea," he answers. He tries to start the now dead engine but gets no response.

"Did you forget to get gas?" I ask the first possible option that comes to mind.

"No," Taylor replies simply after another failed attempt at sparking the engine. Then he unbuckles his seatbelt before getting out of the car and walking around it, inspecting it for damage. I do the same about a half a minute later, even though I don't know anything about cars.

It's gotten fairly chilly since the sun set, so I wrap my arms around myself to rub out the cold. Wordlessly, Taylor opens the hood of the car and looks over the inside.

"Do you see anything wrong?" I ask him as he frowns.

"I have no clue. Let me go call someone," Taylor leans into the car to get his phone, but then gets out again with a sigh. "It's not here. I must've left it back at your place, I guess."

"That's fine, I'll do it," I reach into the back pocket of my jeans to get my cell, only to find that it doesn't respond to me when I try to turn the display on. "Shit," I say, realizing it must've run out of battery. "My phone's dead."

"Fuck," Taylor lets out, his hands going into his hair.

"Somebody will drive by and help us," I reassure him, though looking around at the road that seems empty for miles, I have my doubts about that statement.

"I'm not so sure about that. This road is practically abandoned because it's pretty damaged, everyone just uses the highway. I wanted to go this way since it's shorter," he comments, and I can tell he's pretty frustrated. "Damn it," he mutters, leaning into the side of his car.

"Hey, it's gonna be fine," I let my hand rest on his shoulder. "We'll get home, it's okay."

"This isn't about getting home," my arm rests at my side again as he reaches into the car another time, this time around getting out with two small pieces of paper in his hand. "I just wanted you to have a good night for once, after all of the problems I've caused, but I guess it's just not meant to be," he hands me two tickets to see The Cure perform. The show's in three hours.

"Taylor, I—" I find myself at a loss for words. That's the surprise he had planned for me. That's what he was so secretive about. I've wanted to see a show of theirs for years now, but never actually got around to it.

"I'm sorry this couldn't work out," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, before I have the chance to thank him for even thinking of something like this.

"No, don't be sorry," I take a step closer again, gently placing my hand on one of his forearms, taken aback by how warm it is. The chilly night air has me almost shivering in my hoodie, and yet his completely exposed arms — as he's wearing just a t-shirt — are so hot. Thankfully, though, he doesn't lean away this time. "I love that you thought to do this for me."

"It doesn't matter if we can't even get there," Taylor says, flexing his forearm muscles under my touch. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's sulking.

"It's all that matters," I chuckle lightly and look up at him. There's a deep crease in between his brows that's accentuated by the lack of light. I stare into his eyes and am met with disappointment, frustration, but most importantly, a pained expression, a sense that just looking at me hurts him. An overwhelming desire to reach up and kiss him envelops me again, the second time in an alarmingly short amount of time. Only with the difference that, right now, the thought of acting upon that desire crosses my mind, and it's almost as intense as it was at the airport. _Almost._

I break the eye contact and he clears his throat, taking a few steps away. "So what do you want to do?" I question in a desperate attempt to fill the awkward silence that was created by another one of these moments we can't seem to stop sharing for some reason.

"I don't think we have many options except for just waiting for someone to drive by and help us. Unless you know how to fix cars, of course, because I have no idea what any of that stuff is," he says, pointing to the still open hood of the car.

"Okay," I reply, heading back to the passenger seat with Taylor soon following suit.

"How did you know I'd enjoy going to a Cure concert?" I ask, disrupting the quiet that had settled in between us.

"What do you mean? You love them."

"As far as I remember, the last time we talked about my musical preferences was, like, five years ago," I mock him, testing him, but — as expected — he doesn't give in.

"Oh, please," Taylor waves his hand in the air, pointing out the ridiculousness of me insinuating that I wouldn't want to see The Cure perform — I absolutely would. "The day you'd refuse to go to their show is the day I'd turn down playing for the Preds and go to the Sharks — and that will literally never happen. You can quote me on that."

I laugh. Yeah, that sounds about right. He offers me his best grin, the white of his teeth glistening in the dim glow, and I fail to stop myself from staring at his mouth. I can tell he notices just what I was looking at the moment our eyes meet a second later, because that grin is quickly gone.

It's at that moment that I finally let go of the rational thoughts tethering me to the ground. It's at that instant that I stop seeing the boy I used to know — not because I can't, because he's too far gone behind all the hurt and betrayal, but because I don't want to. Because the man in front of me is way more than enough.

I lean from my seat towards him, closing the space between us and pressing a light kiss to his lips. I grip the driver's seat to keep my balance as he pulls me in deeper with his hands in my hair, not one bit fazed by the sudden contact, unlike the last time. Taylor exhales heavily as our tongues meet, and before I know it I'm shifting from my current position to straddle his waist.

One of his hands leaves my hair and rests on my hip. I grab onto his shoulders to steady myself as all thoughts of anything but the hardness building below me leave my mind at once. The feeling of his lips on mine and the way we move against each other just about sends me to a different world, one very distant to this one.

"Hayley," he says breathlessly, and suddenly I feel him breaking contact, but not wanting to let go, I hold him in place, too far gone to break the kiss now.

"Hayley, there's a car," he repeats, and I sober up. Taking one look into the rearview mirror, I see the headlights of a foreign car slowly approaching. "And as much as I'd like to do this right now, we should probably do something," he goes on, and I quickly get off him and reach to open the door, still out of breath from the kiss.

Knowing full well that I don't have the time to think about what I've just done, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I run into the middle of the road and wave my arms around. Luckily the car hasn't passed us already by the time I get out, and I watch it slowly come to a stop.

"Hi," Taylor greets the middle-aged woman who rolls down her window to talk to us with a charming smile, somehow completely composed. That's something I cannot say for myself, as I can still feel my heartbeat in my ears. "So, we have a little bit of a situation. My car broke down and I have no idea how to fix it, and since we're kind of in the middle of nowhere, we don't really have a way to get anywhere. Do you think you could possibly give us a ride?"

I can't really see the woman's expression, but it's clear that she's hesitating. And honestly, I can't say I blame her; I'd be skeptical, too, in a situation like this.

"You can keep this car if you feel like going back for it," Taylor gestures to his car — a car we'd just made out in — and my jaw drops. Did he really just offer someone his undoubtedly extremely expensive car for a ride to the city?

The woman says something out of my earshot, and a second later Taylor waves me over to him. "Let's go," he whispers, his mouth so close to my ear that I can feel his lips causing a shiver to run through me, and we climb into the back seats.

I half expect the woman to make some kind of small talk, but she doesn't. Instead, I watch her eyes dart to her mirror every ten seconds or so, looking at the two of us. I have a hard time focusing on anything, though, as Taylor's hand rests on my thigh. I suck in a breath, the memory of what happened just a moment ago still very vivid in my mind.

"Did you seriously just give your car to someone in exchange for a ride somewhere?" I ask, trying to keep my voice in as low of a whisper as possible, though I've already accepted that the woman will probably hear all of our conversation. Not that it really matters; it's not like we'll ever hear from her again.

"Yeah, why shouldn't I?" Taylor responds. It takes everything in me to focus on his words and not his fingers, moving in circles on the fabric of my jeans.

"That car must've been, like—" I stop myself, realizing I have no clue how much his car cost. "A lot of money."

He just laughs, as if I'm being naïve. "Hayley, I make twenty thousand a night. It's not a big deal."

The rest of the drive is awfully quiet. When we finally get to Seattle, that silence is occasionally broken by Taylor giving the woman directions to his apartment. Once we arrive at a rather quiet place in the city, Taylor thanks our driver, gives her his car keys, and as I mumble a goodnight, we get out of the vehicle.

I watch her drive off and suddenly am very aware of the situation. I have no doubt that the kiss is still as much on his mind as it is on mine. I swear I can still feel it. The tension in between us is thick with the unfortunately interrupted bliss.

I rack my brain to come up with something fitting to say, to voice my thoughts. "You seriously don't mind that you just gave your car to someone just for them to drive you?" That wasn't it.

He scratches the back of his head and chuckles awkwardly. That's what we've come to — awkwardness. And I hate it. "I can buy a new one with two days worth of my salary," he continues chuckling but looks extremely unsure of himself. "So, do you want to go upstairs? Maybe eat something before the show?"

"Wait, you have food up there? Didn't you say the only time you lived there was when you were recovering from your injury?" And just like that, the awkwardness is gone.

"Cereal doesn't go bad," he argues.

"No, it goes stale."

"Well, you don't have to eat my Cheerios, but I sure will," he starts walking towards the entrance of the building and I shake my head.

Our little cereal argument continues as we go up the elevator until we get to the door I presume leads to his place. Just as I expect him to start unlocking the door, he freezes and slowly turns around to face me. I frown, unable to read his expression, but very aware that it doesn't mean anything good. "What?" I ask.

"Uh," he clears his throat, "I may or may not have left my keys in the car. You know, the car that's about 70 miles from here that I also gave to someone."

"Taylor," I whine, shocked but at the same time not surprised. "Okay, so what's the plan? We're literally stranded in this city I know nobody in," I turn to him.

"I don't know," he shrugs, but there's something off about it.

I tilt my head to the side to see what he's not telling me. Then I see his lips in a tight line, the corners of his mouth twitching. He's suppressing a smile. I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out what the hell could be funny about any of this. After another moment of our stare contest, he finally breaks the facade and grins.

"Just kidding," he raises his hand with a small keychain hanging on his index finger.

"Taylor," I hit his chest. Of course he would do something like that.

"I know," his hands go in the air as if I'd just complimented him. "I did consider a career in stand up comedy, but ultimately decided to go with hockey for the money."

I surrender the fight and let out a weak laugh as he unlocks the door and we enter the apartment. He flicks the light on and I take a look around. The hall leads into the living room, with a large flat screen and a couch unnecessarily big for the only person living there. The kitchen's right next to it, and what I assume must be the bathroom and bedroom are on the other side. Given the size of this, it's definitely meant for more than just one person.

"So let me get this straight," I begin, "you bought this apartment knowing you'd spend about one maybe two months tops in here."

"I don't know how else to put it, but I make a lot of money, therefore it's not that big of an investment. And I liked it here. I actually considered moving here, believe it or not."

"Really?" I ask, a little shocked by the revelation.

"Yeah," he replies, heading to the kitchen and opening one empty cabinet after another. "After the injury, it was clear that the Preds wouldn't just take me back without some kind of proof that I was actually capable of playing the game again, and I thought this would be a good place to start. There was nothing for me in Nashville."

"So what changed your mind?" I watch him unsuccessfully search his kitchen.

"Kevin did. He's been fired, by the way," he mentions, matter-of-factly, now switching from cabinets to drawers. "It took me four years to realize he was an absolute shithead, but hey, better late than never."

"Sounds intense," I comment, careful about breaching the subject.

"Not really. When I got back to Nashville after our argument and got to play that game, I realized I didn't need him for anything. I played that game because I went there and talked to the coach. He didn't do shit. So I just told him he was fired. It actually felt really liberating," he finishes, and I process the information. I'm relieved that he finally separated himself from that toxic moron. Good riddance. "Found it," Taylor laughs as he proudly puts a box of Cheerios on the counter.

"I take it that has been lying here for over a year?"

"Yes."

"And you're still going to eat it?"

"A hundred percent," he replies with a mischievous smile and rips the paper box open. As he pulls out the white plastic bag with his oh-so-desired food, the grin on his face quickly fades. Instead of what he was expecting, the cereal's stuck together and formed a stone-hard brick of sugar and carbs. I stifle a laugh and he shoots me a nasty look. "You know, it's really insensitive and fucked up that you'd laugh at something like this. I was actually looking forward to that."

"Why don't you just pay someone to go get a new box for you? 'I make a lot of money, Hayley.'" I mimic his voice with the last sentence.

He gazes at me, and I know I've won this time. "It's fine," he proclaims after a while of what seemed like really deep thinking "I'll just break it apart, it's fine," with that he grips the solidified cereal and attempts to break it in half. Only, it's apparently a lot stronger than he was anticipating, because even though his knuckles turn completely white and his biceps are flexing — not that I'm looking, or anything — it's not breaking apart.

"Are you seriously not capable of breaking a bunch of Cheerios apart?" I mock him, very much entertained and enjoying the show.

He drops it back on the counter and it makes a surprisingly loud thud. "Okay, how do you propose we get food without a phone or a car?"

"Gee, I don't know... I've heard of this crazy thing called walking. Maybe you could give it a shot," I suggest innocently.

"There are no grocery shops that'd be open at this hour within miles," Taylor argues.

"I guess you'll just have to survive without Cheerios for a whole day. Whatever will you do?" His eyes narrow at me, clearly not pleased with me making fun of him. I'm just happy it's finally his turn to be on the receiving end of this.

"Do you still want to try and make the show?" Taylor changes the subject suddenly, and the question catches me off guard. The show we're here for in the first place. I completely forgot about it. "We'd be late, and I have no idea how to get there, but I'd figure something out."

I weigh my options. I most definitely want to see the show, but I doubt either of us would come up with a way how we'd find the place, not to mention that they might not even let us in by the time we find it. That's even if the show would still be happening.

Then, for the first time since entering this apartment, I think back to what happened in the car. I somehow managed to forget it while talking to him, something I didn't think was possible.

I probably shouldn't've enjoyed myself as much as I did, but I'm past the point of caring. Besides, what the hell is stopping us now? There's nothing in my life now that'd be negatively affected by Taylor and I being closer — on the contrary. The only thing that'd change would be the fact that I'd be able to tell Justin who his dad is, which is just another plus.

And god damn it do I love this boy.

"Earth to Hayley," he waves his hands in front of my face, and I notice then that he left the cereal behind and is now standing in front of me.

"Right... no, I don't think going to see the show now has any point anymore," I reply, in a desperate attempt to make my voice steadier and hide what I'd just thought about.

"Are you okay?" Taylor asks, clearly having seen through me.

"I was just thinking about..." my voice trails off when I realize that's absolutely not what I should be saying.

A guilty look overtakes his features, and he fixes his gaze at the ground. "Yeah, about that... I'm sorry. I know you said you needed time, I guess I just got carried away," he explains, and I stare at him for a moment, having a hard time believing he's actually apologizing to me. I was the one who initiated that whole situation.

"No, that's not what I meant— wait, why are you sorry?"

"Because you said you needed time and I violated that," I try to speak, to tell him that that's not true at all, but he doesn't let me. "I thought you liked it, so I overstepped the boundaries, thinking we were in a different place than we actually were."

I open my mouth to speak, but it takes me a minute before any sound comes out. "Let me get this straight — somehow, in your brain, me literally climbing onto you means you persuaded me and I wasn't actually into it?" I state, dumbfounded by the fact that that's honestly how he interpreted that situation. I'm starting to understand how he thought breaking up with me all those years ago was a good thing.

He frowns and looks to the side. "Okay, when you say it like that it makes a little less sense."

I chuckle and cross my arms over my chest. "It's honestly beyond me how you come up with these ridiculous conclusions sometimes."

An expectant silence follows, during which I gaze into his hazel eyes, and something shifts. It's hard to describe, but the air feels lighter, making it easier to breathe. As if the last pieces of the wall between us — one that had been growing for so long that it felt unbreakable — are being chipped away at this very moment. As if the last of the scars on my heart are fading away, desperately awaiting a clean slate.

"Would you really say you climbed onto me?"

"Come on," I leave my current position with an embarrassed laugh to hide the fact that I am most definitely blushing right now, already regretting that I ever said that; he'll make an effort to remind me of it every chance he gets for a long time coming. I absent-mindedly start picking at the Cheerios to busy myself. They really are hard to break apart.

"Your words, not mine," I can see him shift on his feet in my peripheral vision, but nonetheless pretend like I'm very much busy with picking at the cereal. My heartbeat jumps up just a little bit when I notice him taking a step closer. "I might regret saying this, but I thought you didn't want this," his voice suddenly turns somber, fearful. "I mean, what about everything that's happened? I thought you said you could never trust me again."

I turn to face him and find that he's closer than I thought. That won't do any favors to my already quickened breathing. "I meant it when I said it. I didn't think I could trust you to stay ever again. But," I pause to search for the right words to voice how I feel, "obviously, there was the part about you having made up the cheating — which I still think was incredibly stupid, by the way. When I found out about that, things changed for me, but not enough. I didn't think that we could ever rebuild what we had before; too much damage had been done. And I stand by that."

"Right..." he bites the inside of his mouth, as if I'd just confirmed his worst suspicions.

"But then, I thought..." I smile subconsciously, "why should that be a bad thing? You're not the same person you were back then, and neither am I. Why should we rebuild something that was lost all those years ago? Don't get me wrong – I love that period of my life. But it ended. And I don't want to be stuck in the past anymore, reminiscing about what was and can never be again. I want to be right here and right now, not in high school."

I take a small step forward until we're just one or two feet apart. "And, yeah, I have trust issues, but we all have issues. The last time I took a risk was a long time ago because I've been alone and raising a child with hardly anyone to help me. But that's the thing – I'm not alone in this anymore. And I believe that," I place a hand on his chest, above his heart, "I believe you." I feel around that spot on his chest, enjoying the solid feel of his body beneath my hand. "And I forgive you."

The corners of Taylor's mouth curl up as he closes the last of the distance remaining between us, until our faces are close enough for me to feel his breath tickling my skin, making shivers run down my spine. I have to tilt my head up to be able to see his eyes. He bites his lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the smile from spreading across his face as something sparks in his eyes. "I love you," he says, lightly, as if he's saying the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is.

He didn't even need to say it, though, his eyes said more than words ever could.

I place my hand over his cheek as he bends towards me, capturing my breath with his. The sudden pressure of his firm lips on mine fills me with an overwhelming surge of affection, rushing through every pore of my body as I did my best to savor everything about this moment. A moment I had subconsciously longed for for so long. A moment where it's just the two of us without all the baggage and issues, without the nagging ache in my chest, an ache that clutches onto the past and refuses to let go. A moment when I look into his eyes and finally see him and not the hurt he's caused.

Up until recently, whenever I looked at him the reality of how I'd spent the last 5 years and his part in all of it was there, reminding me, mocking me. Yes, it was getting better each day, but still very much there and it took everything in me not to dwell on it. Even if I desperately wanted to be able to let go, this part of me just wouldn't despite how much I tried. But a couple of days ago I looked into his eyes and it was gone, leaving no trace or evidence of its existence. And just like that, it felt easier to smile.

His hands run up my sides and their warmth easily seeps through the hoodie he gave me earlier. His mouth is hot against mine as I tangle my fingers in the thick hair on the back of his head. Taylor's arms pull me into him urgently, so close that our chests are pressed flush against one another. He starts trailing kisses along my jawline and the heavy breaths that were being absorbed by his mouth escape me.

It's not long after our initial contact that I feel him backing me up towards the wall of his kitchen. I didn't realize just how urgent, almost forceful, the motion had been until something crashed loudly beside us. My eyes go wide as I turn to inspect the damage and Taylor lets out an annoyed groan when I break the kiss. A picture frame is lying on the ground, the shattered glass scattered all over the floor.

"Leave it." His voice is a hoarse whisper and his face is still close enough for me to feel his breath on my skin.

"We can't," I giggle "you'll step on it and cut yourself," I remind him of the fact that neither of us is wearing shoes.

He groans again and lays his forehead on mine as his hands linger on my hips, which makes me start to shift towards his view and begin to consider that maybe staying here won't be so bad. Without thinking about it I reach up and seal his lips on mine as all reasonable thoughts about the fact that if one of us did step on the glass the moment would be ruined leave my head in an instant. The complete intoxication his touch is causing to me is making it nothing short of impossible to think straight.

"Okay okay let's not risk being around the glass," he says abruptly and leads me out of the kitchen, dragging my hand behind him.

We don't make it very far down the hall until we come to a stop again, my back against the wall, as Taylor's desperate kisses take over my mind entirely. They're urgent, breathless. His head leans to the left - it always leans to the left - and his teeth are on my lower lip, nipping and tugging until I moan and open up to him. Tender, the tip of his tongue enters, brushing against mine as my arms clutch onto his shoulders pulling him as close as our current position would allow.

Taylor's hands settle on my waist, slowly making their way lower. A groan vibrates through his chest when he lifts me onto my tiptoes and nudges my hips against his, his arousal pressing hard against my lower belly and shivers run through my entire body at the contact. The desire, utter _need_ for him build within me with each kiss, each touch, and the intensity completely catch me red-handed. It's not like I haven't been with anyone in the past five years, but the fact that none of those times even compare to a make-out session is not something I was prepared for.

We're moving, still in our passionate exchange, and I pull my hoodie over my head and drop it behind me. Without breaking the contact Taylor guides me through the hall to a dark, unlit room, the only source of light being that carrying all the way from the kitchen.

Our tongues press together in a hot, open-mouthed kiss and I'm easily lost in Taylor's warmth again. I slide my hands under his shirt, running my fingers along the smooth curves of his chest and down to his waist. He inhales quickly. He reaches around and pulls his shirt off his body. My heart stops. I breathlessly observe the silhouette of his defined, lean muscles in the dark and bite my lip. I have seen him topless once since our break-up, but not in a setting where looking at him like this, drinking him with my eyes, really, would be acceptable.

Leaning in to brush my lips over the sharp lines of his jaw, I take my time caressing and tasting his skin, making my way to his neck. I let my hand slowly go down his abdomen, following the deep ridges of his chest with my fingertips down to the small trail of hair leading into his jeans. His grip on my hips hardens as he sucks in a breath when I grind my palm against him through the fabric.

I feel Taylor's hand moving steadily and slipping under the hem of my shirt. I smile against his mouth feeling him play with the hem for a minute before his fingers splay outward and start caressing my belly. When he starts tugging on the piece of clothing, I raise my arms above my head and we part long enough for him to be able to remove it from my body. He wastes no time unhooking my bra and discarding it by throwing it off to the side as soon as, thanks to a joint effort of the both of us, it's no longer attached to my body.

The very next second a penetrating stare pierces my chest as Taylor's eyes are glued to my freshly exposed skin. I raise my eyebrows and fail to hold back a laugh since he's acting like he's never seen boobs in real life.

"Seriously?" I question and his gaze quickly darts to meet mine as if he'd forgotten I was even there in the first place.

"Sorry," he says and I swear I could see him blush. Just as quickly as he got startled, though, the confidence is back. "It's just been a while since I've really done anything."

"Really?" the question comes out before I have the time to make it sound less shocked.

"Why is that surprising?" He frowns.

"Well, I just thought," I pause, not wanting to say the wrong thing to ruin the moment "you know, with your lifestyle and all."

"My lifestyle?" Taylor still doesn't seem to understand what I'm getting at.

"Come on; I know how many girls must've been waiting for your after games," I reply, still very vividly remembering standing by his team's changing room and seeing the rows of girls just waiting for him to sign their left boob with a marker or something of the sort.

"All I want to do is pass out after games, Hayley, they're exhausting. And my lifestyle literally consisted of working out, being at the ice rink and sleeping. I didn't have time for other people, I kind of made sure of that," he explains. "There were a couple one night stands, but I could count those nights with the fingers on my right hand."

"Oh," I let out. For some reason, I've lived with the image of him having a different girl in bed every night for the past 5 years without actually having a logical train of thought to get to that conclusion.

"That kind of makes me afraid to ask about you," he mentions nervously and I quiver when his hand starts creeping up my side as my skin prickles under his touch.

"I was too busy with Justin to have time for a relationship."

"So you didn't...?"

"That guy you punched at the bar," I start talking about the occasional benefits to my friendship with Jay, but Taylor doesn't let me finish.

"I knew I didn't like him," he mutters under his breath. "How serious of a threat should I expect from him?"

My body jerks as his hands absent-mindedly explore my body and I start getting serious regrets about even starting this conversation.

"Could we talk about this some other time?" I speak fast, not even bothering to remind him of the fact that expecting Jay to be a threat to anything between us is laughable since my mind is too busy with the scorching hot trails his fingertips leave on my ribcage.

The corners of his mouth twitch in that arrogant grin of his. "Someone's eager," the movement of his hands suddenly gains purpose as he trails up from my sides to my breast with one hand, working it in his palm, while the other inches my hips towards his. I bite back a moan in an attempt to keep my cool.

"You're one to talk," I nod my head towards the very obvious bulge in his pants.

I expect him to bite back with another snarky comment, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls me in for a deep kiss, picking up exactly where we left off two minutes ago. Things start escalating quickly, my breathing becoming heavier with each kiss, each touch. Clutching at his shoulderblades I pull myself as close to him as possible. Suddenly even the little clothing each of us was wearing started becoming too much of a barrier. His hands struggle with the zipper on my jeans and I eventually move to help him.

As I step out of them he holds me against his warm smooth skin before gently laying me on top of the king-sized bed, his mouth trailing along my shoulders down to my stomach. He stood to remove his belt and to slide off his pants.

I wrap my leg around the back of his thigh as he eases himself over me. My mouth finds his neck, and I trace my lips across his chest. Our frantic breaths reveal our excitement, as his fingers trail along my stomach, sending a thousand sparks shooting through my body. All I can hear are our quick breaths. All I can feel is his touch on my heated skin. My head spins, and my pulse quickens; eventually releasing a moan I didn't know I had in me. Our discovery of each other left my chest rising with long, drawn breaths.

I inhale at his touch as his hand eases up my thigh, under my underwear. A flush of heat rushes through my chest when he slowly slides two fingers inside me with ease. He keeps his pace even and slow. I dig my nails into his back as he curls his fingers inside me, forcing me to release his name in a heavy sigh of content. I close my eyes, overtaken by the sensation. My breath breaks into uneven bursts as I bury my face in his neck, teasing his skin with my tongue and brushing my lips along his jaw until I find his mouth, moaning into his parted lips as his touch pushes me over. I grip his back and tighten around him, lost in the rippling current coursing through my body. I collapsed against him with a drawn breath.

Once I regain my composure I fight the urge to roll my eyes when I'm met with a snarky grin playing on his lips, one I can see completely clearly even despite the lack of lighting since I've seen it so many times before. It doesn't last long though, as my hand ventures down his body and slips between the waistband of his boxers. I can hear him inhale sharply when I grip the base of him. Taylor grunts as I move my hand and he discards his underwear, allowing me free movement. I tighten my hold as I move my hand, enjoying the sounds I was making him let out.

Suddenly, he leans away towards the vanity next to his bed and a couple of seconds later turns back to me with a condom. "Not taking that chance again," he chuckles as he rips the wrapper open with the help of his teeth.

"Good call," I reply and use the time to get rid of my panties. When I turn back to face him I'm met with his lips. He kisses me passionately as he positions himself above me, the muscles of his body flexing with each movement. He looks at me as he slowly enters me and for a brief second I see his eyes rolling into the back of his head before my lids involuntarily shut closed, unable to stay open with everything I was experiencing. This beautiful sense of familiarity, of the longing I'd felt for years finally being fulfilled spreading through the entirety of my body until it was all there was.

I can feel his sweat on my skin as he rests his forehead against mine, the heavy breaths matching mine. I kiss him softly as he begins to move, his pace gentle but steady. He mutters something under his breath, but I don't hear it. My brain is too occupied with everything going on inside me. I could feel him everywhere. I could feel every inch of him against every inch of me. His warmth presses firmly against my walls as I wrap my legs around his back.

Taylor raises himself up on his hands gaining better access and continues his pace. He lets out a breath and grunts a faint word that might've been _good_ , and pins me into the mattress with hungry kisses and unrelenting thrusts. Our movements become desperate as my moans and pants get lost in his groans and heavy exhales.

My mind screams at me to get closer, as close as physically possible. I twist my hips in an attempt to allow him better access. As he enters again he goes in just a tiny bit deeper, but it's enough to send me over the edge. Taylor lets out a pained growl and goes slack against me as I slowly come down from my high.

When I stifle my last moan, Taylor lays down next to me, his chest rising and falling. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his body that reflects the moonlight and I can't help tracing my finger across his pectorals, marveling at the feeling.

He runs his hand over his face and turns to face me, a content smile on his face. He just stares at me and starts playing with my hair, but his eyes stay on mine, saying everything we'd just said with our bodies.

Breaking the eye contact, he raises his eyebrows and looks at his feet and back at me, then speaks with a shrug that tries to hide the small smile. "I still think we should've gone to see the show."

"You're such a jerk," I fling the pillow from under my head over his middle and he starts laughing.

"And you have no sense of humor," he says and I rise the blanket over my body, staring to feel cold with the adrenaline leaving my system. His hands come around my frame and soon I feel my eyes closing, falling into deep sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  


_6 years ago_

_I throw my backpack in the general direction of my part of the dorm in a desperate attempt to save myself the tiny amount of effort it'd take to put it in its place, completely unable to think about anything but the sheer exhaustion I'm feeling because of this being the last day of midterms._

_I let out a sigh when I faceplant on the bed, delighted at the complete lack of tests I'm taking tomorrow. The performance and composition exams were — while still very hard — pretty passable. I just had to practice for hours on end every day, but that's kind of why I'm here in the first place. Musical history, though, that's a very different conversation to be had. I didn't even know there were that many composers to have existed, much less for literally anyone on the planet to know about them._

_Already feeling the information I crammed into my brain wash away in a steady stream of forgetting the things I don't and will never need to know, I feel my phone vibrating in the back pocket of my jeans. Checking the screen, I see Taylor's face and immediately ease up at the image, at the thought of hearing his voice._

_Sitting up, I fix my hair a little bit as I accept the call, a smile forming on my face when I'm met with his face. Sometimes I feel like this very image is the only thing keeping me sane these days._

_"Hi," he says, holding the camera a little further from his face. There's water dripping from his hair, so he's probably just gotten out of the shower._

_"Hey," I reply, trying not to let the exhaustion show too much. We hardly ever get to talk now, and I don't want to ruin this rare occasion by making him concerned about why I'm so tired. "Did your practice just end?"_

_"Yeah, I just got back. How did your exam go?" Taylor brings up the dreaded topic of my mid-terms, and I cringe slightly at the thought of all the studying I've had to do during the past two weeks._

_"Fine, I guess," the statement comes out much more like a question than anything else. "I honestly feel like I don't know anything anymore. My brain feels literally empty," I answer, running a hand through my hair while letting out a heavy exhale._

_"I'm sure you did great," his teeth make an appearance as he grins at me, that happy, annoyingly optimistic grin of his I've been seeing less of with the shortened amount of time we get to talk._

_"What about you? How's training?" I ask, wanting to just forget about the exams. They're already done, and dwelling on them, wondering what I could've gotten wrong, will just make me go more crazy._

_"Intense," he replies. "I got news, though," his brows quirk up with excitement. "I got an agent now."_

_"Seriously?" I question, as the smile I didn't think I'd have today slowly forms on my lips. This is the break every athlete waits for. It doesn't mean a contract with a club, which is the ultimate goal, but it's the last stop before that._

_"Yeah. This sketchy dude approached me yesterday after a game and slipped me his card. So I called the number and some guy named Kevin something told me he wants to be my agent. I did some background searching afterwards, and he seems legit," Taylor explains._

_"Do you think you'll get signed soon?"_

_"Honestly? Yeah. Coach said there've been scouts coming to watch me during games for a while, and now this. I think it's really going to happen, Hayles," the smile on my face only grows wider as he speaks, inexplicably happy for him to finally be getting his dream. There isn't a person in this world I can think of who deserves it more than him._

_"Then once I'm a millionaire, I'll buy a place in New York and we can live there together," the sentence starts out enthusiastic, but ends up in a sobering silence, a reminder of our current situation._

_Neither of us says anything, and I search his eyes through the screen of my phone, willing to give just about anything to be able to be with him right now and knowing that he feels the same. This part has almost become a regular part of our calls. The longing for one another now feels almost like a ritual we go through every time. Neither of us even has to voice our thoughts to know exactly what's going on._

_"My parents say hi, by the way," he ends the moment. "I visited home last week. I saw your mom, too," he tells me, and I try not to jump to the conclusion that whatever happened with my mother was bad._

_The resentment I've built up towards my mother only increases each time I think about her, especially since I moved to New York. We hardly talk at all except for the occasional text message — like me letting her know I passed my exams, or something of the sort — which, compared to the amount of times she's tried to make me stay home for the night instead of going to Taylor's, is a huge contrast. It's like she forgot I exist. She seems to have phases during which she's extra friendly and it feels like she genuinely wants to talk to me, but not two weeks later, it's gone. In other words; any consistency with her just doesn't exist._

_"Did she say something I should know about?" I question with a sigh._

_"No, just the regular 'I took you away from her' bullshit," he recounts. That sounds about right. "Does she talk to you at all?"_

_"Not really. Sometimes it feels like she wants to, but then she just seems to forget I was even born. I really don't want to talk about her, though. Tell me something about what's been happening with you."_

_"Okay, let's see... a different girl in my bed every night. There's actually a row of them standing at my door right now," he says, turning around to gesture to his door._

_Asshole. "I'd throw this pillow at your face if I could," I grab the pillow from my bed, earning a laugh out of him. Sometimes I don't mind his jokes, but the fact that this very topic is indirectly one of my main insecurities about this whole long distance thing definitely makes me appreciate his sense of humor a lot less._

_"I'm just kidding. I've had my eye on you ever since you started hating me when we first met, Williams," he replies._

_"I never hated you," I defend myself, raising the pitch of my voice._

_"So that's why every time I'd try to talk to you, you'd do your very best to avoid me at all costs?"_

_"I avoided you because I didn't believe you trying to talk to me wasn't just a stupid bet you made with all of your jock friends," I reply, just now realizing that we've probably never covered this topic._

_"Oh," he lets out. "I did not see that coming. I was just under the impression that you thought I was an ass."_

_"'Thought,' as in, you don't think I'm under that impression anymore?" I tease._

_"You know what? That was actually good, I'll let you have that. I've taught you well," he says with pride._

_"Thanks. Are you still coming when you get that week off you mentioned?"_

_"Um..." he waits for a second as his gaze averts from the camera on his phone._

_"I knew it," I say defeatedly, before he even has the chance to cancel all the plans we've made. "You need to tell your coach to let you have a life," I proclaim. This by far isn't the first time the man has made Taylor stay longer and train extra._

_"This wasn't his idea, it was mine."_

_"It was?" I speak slowly, not understanding why he'd do that._

_"I'm sorry, but I should stay here. With all the things happening with the agent and scouts coming, I can't leave now. I don't want to lose the momentum," he says, defiantly._

_"So you worry more about your 'momentum' than about seeing your girlfriend," I state, dumbfounded. This has never happened. Not once since we parted our ways and went off to college has he chosen literally anything over seeing me._

_"No, it's not that," he retracts as I shake my head. "You don't understand; I_ have _to do this. I_ have _to get a contract and then we can be together. But as long as I'm not signed, I'm just another freshman in college with no income."_

_"I know that, but one week or even just a few days wouldn't make a difference," I argue._

_"But what if it did?" He seems as though he's pleading with me with his eyes, begging me to understand. I don't._

_"Guess we'll never find out," I answer, hanging up the call._


	13. twelve

I wake to the too-bright sunlight pouring in to the room, forcing my eyelids open. I raise my head slightly to look over the room, realizing that I don't recognize it. A feeling of unease is quickly replaced with warmth once the memories of yesterday start flooding back; touches, caresses, kisses, and an overwhelming sense of bliss and pleasure I haven't felt in years. I let out a light laugh.

Snuggling the blanket, I roll onto my side to face Taylor, only to find the other side of the bed empty. I frown, finding it very hard to believe that I woke up later than he did. I guess there's a first time for everything.

That's when I smell the food, my stomach grumbling in response. The last time I ate was probably yesterday evening before we left. I was too busy last night to worry about my hunger, but right now the delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen seems to be the only thing on my mind.

I kick the sheets off of myself, only to realize that I'm very much naked. I look around the room and find the t-shirt Taylor wore yesterday in a pile on the floor. Good enough. After pulling it over my head, I smooth it down, content with where the hem hits around my mid-thigh.

I can hear footsteps and something frying as I approach the kitchen. As I enter the space, my eyes land on Taylor breaking open some eggs into a pan. He's wearing some kind of running shorts, but his bare back is fully exposed to me, so I silently enjoy the view.

Taylor turns around and notices me leaning against the wall. A dopey grin forms on his lips. "Good morning."

"Good morning to you, too," I reply, taking a few short strides toward him.

Taylor puts the spatula down and pulls me in. His lips brush over mine briefly, and my eyes stay closed for a moment after leaning away, trying to burn the moment into my memory.

"Hi," his hands rest on my lower back.

"Hey," I reply, for some reason unable to wipe the smile off my face.

"How did you sleep?"

"Better than you, apparently," I gesture towards him.

"Oh, I slept just fine. But I guess you'd know that," he offers me a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, and I look away to hide the fact that his words did indeed have what was most likely his desired effect on me. "You hungry?"

"Not for anything expired, if that's what you're asking," I recall the cheerios situation.

"I went shopping, you dork," he shakes his head slightly, as if I'd just offended him. "I decided to go for a run and stopped by some grocery shop."

I look around him to check if he's telling the truth and find two pans on the stove, one containing eggs and the other some very good looking bacon. "Okay, yeah, I'm definitely hungry. You need any help?"

"Nope, almost done," he replies, so I go to look for something to drink. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find something to drink," I answer, as if that should've been completely obvious.

"That's my job. I'm making breakfast, I'll get you something to drink. You go sit down and enjoy," he says, slightly raising the pitch of his voice as he leads me to the table before pulling a chair out and waiting for me to sit.

I shoot him an annoyed look in response to his completely unnecessary resistance to me getting my own water and his insistance on doing it himself, though I secretly enjoy it. Taylor finishes making the food and then places two plates and glasses of water onto the table before taking a seat beside me.

"Is this what living alone has taught you?" I mock him, referring to his utter inability to cook anything back when we were dating.

"There are many things I've learned while living alone, Hayley," he answers, completely unfazed.

"Like what?" I chuckle.

"You'll just have to find out," the calm expression stays on his face. I squint my eyes at him, trying to figure out why he's talking so strangely, and it's only when his mouth quirks up that I remember who I'm talking to. It's a sex joke. Of course it is.

"What time is it?" I question once we're done with the food, laying my fork on the now empty plate.

"A little after ten," he answers after checking his watch, which is resting on the counter instead of around his wrist.

"Shit," I mutter, "I told your parents we'd be home by noon."

"Don't worry," he places his hands on my shoulders, making his way back from the counter to the table. He presses a light kiss into my hair, and I lean into the contact. "We already talked about everything. I told them what we had planned and that we might sleep in," he continues, sitting back down opposite me.

"Wait," I frown. What the hell does that mean? "How did you know we might sleep in? Did you think this was going to happen?" I ask, suddenly trying to piece yesterday night — and whether this was his plan all along — together.

"What? Of course not," he laughs, "Hayley, no. I didn't think this was going to happen. I meant that the show was supposed to be pretty long, and I wasn't sure if you'd want to go somewhere after it, so I didn't know how much sleep you'd get."

"Oh," I let out, the aggravation leaving my body as quickly as it appeared.

"If I had known there was any possibility of this happening I would've pursued it a long time ago, believe me," the cockiness makes an appearance again, and I simply shake my head in response.

The thought of going home, though, is sobering.

"We need to talk," I begin, my tone resolute.

"I know," he picks up on the change in my voice, and I can see the same weight I feel appear in his eyes.

A minute of deafening silence follows, during which I rack my mind for the right question to ask while he just stares off to the side, probably coming up with the right answer.

"I'm not quite sure what to say," I confess.

A soft smile graces his features, and his hand gently squeezes mine. "Whatever you feel."

But how do I feel? I'm obviously attracted to him; I think that was settled a long time ago, and I already basically told him I wanted to get back together with him, which I think I still do. It was a lot easier to say last night, though, when the thoughts of what that'd actually look like in reality hadn't really gotten through to me.

"Okay, let me start," Taylor takes the pressure off me, but still takes a moment before he clears his throat and continues. "I love you, and I want to be with you. And I want Justin to know I'm his dad. Obviously that's going to take time, and it's up to you just how much, but... he should know."

My mouth falls slightly open during his confession, and I find myself unable to close it. It's not like any of what he's saying is news to me, but when he says it like this, it certainly feels more real. His ability to say things of this weight like they're as basic as talking about the weather never ceases to amaze me.

His eyebrows seem to scrunch up in worry the more my silence stretches on, something I don't notice until I turn my head to face him. "I'm sorry," I begin, "it's just that hearing you say that is a lot to take in."

It's right there on the tip of my tongue. _'I love you, too.'_ But when I open my mouth to say the words, nothing comes out. For reasons unknown, I freeze, the sentence stuck in my throat, afraid that somehow me voicing it and admitting my feelings will invite bad luck, leaving room for what happened last time to go down again.

"I think that..." I trail off. "I think that we should give it a shot and see what happens. And yeah, if this works out, then Justin will know," I finish, reluctant to look up at him, knowing he'd just confessed everything to me and I gave him such a haphazard, nonchalant response. When I finally do face him, though, his expression is neutral, seemingly content, as if I've given him a satisfying answer — which I'm very aware isn't the case.

He reaches for my hand again, and I half expect him to ask me if that's it, but he just smiles. And it drives me crazy.

"I'm sorry I don't have a better answer right now. Everything's just a cluster of emotions, and I can't sort it out properly yet," I say in the hopes of salvaging the non-answer I just gave him.

"Yeah, I get it, it's fine," he reassures me again, and I'm glad and angry at the same time. Glad that I'm not under any pressure to come up with something that actually makes sense, but angry that this doesn't seem to bother him nearly as much as it does me, especially when he's the one in the position to be bothered.

\---------

We arrived home a couple of hours later, thanks to Taylor's very creative method of convincing the cab driver — which basically consisted solely of him flashing his wallet. That's not to say I'm complaining, though the amount of money he seems to be throwing around when we're together is a little alarming.

It's been three days since our little trip and he hasn't texted me yet. He left after we had gotten home and talked to his parents for a little while, and I haven't heard from him since. It seems very weird, because not only is he the most relentless person when it comes to texting me several times a day, but also because I was kind of expecting him to stay in touch after what had happened. And no matter how much I try, I haven't been able to decipher his silence. It makes even less sense considering how forward he was about his feelings that morning.

As if on cue, my phone vibrates.

_hey, how are you doing?_

My heartbeat picks up in pace once I see Taylor's name flash across the screen. Am I seriously getting butterflies?

_'i'm good'_ I press send, quickly realizing that that's probably the most passive response I could give him, so I quickly follow up with a 'how about you?'

_'yeah good'_ he replies right away. _'are you free right now?'_

_'depends why you're asking'_ I send back.

_'I want to take u somewhere'_

I frown. _'like where'_

_'to dinner'_

I raise my eyebrows. _That's_ what he means by taking me somewhere. For a moment I allow myself to picture the evening. The image of Taylor and I sitting at some fancy restaurant together flashes through my mind, and I let it linger there for a second before replying.

_'well if you want to take Justin too then sure. i'm sure he'd love to go_ ' I reply, not surprised at the fact that he forgot that I can't just leave a four-year-old alone in an empty apartment.

_'cant we just leave after he's asleep?'_

_'he's 4'_

_'my mom left me home alone when i was 4'_

_'and look how you turned out'_ I feel my lips curl up with my last message, knowing full well what he looks like right now without having to see his face.

Not even two seconds later his name flashes over the screen of my phone, calling me. I pick up reluctantly, uncertain as to whether he'll be angry or proud.

"That was cold, Williams," his voice echoes through the speaker that's pressed to my ear. "I'm impressed."

"Well, thank you," I reply, reveling at the warmth that spreads through me when I hear his voice. All of these feelings are so familiar to how I felt when we were together before, yet also so different and new, all at once.

"So I may or may not have made a reservation at this very nice restaurant," he says out of nowhere, and I fight the urge to whine, because now I'll feel even worse declining — not only because he's already made a reservation, but also because an evening out with him sounds just about perfect. "You don't have to accept this _free_ meal from me, I'm just letting you know that the place is Italian and very fancy. But yeah, totally up to you."

I know his intention with saying all of that is to guilt-trip me into accepting his offer, and yet I'm almost persuaded into saying yes. But I quite literally can't.

"Taylor, he is four. I can't leave him alone at home."

"He'll be asleep, he won't even know it," he argues.

"Yeah, and I'll just leave him a note in case he wakes up when I'm not home," I say sarcastically.

"Sure," Taylor replies, and I don't know whether I should facepalm or laugh.

"He can't read, Taylor. _He's four_ ," I deadpan.

"Oh," I hear him say. I shake my head at how little he sometimes thinks things through. "Well, listen, I wasn't expecting the complications, so I'm already parked in front of your building."

I furrow my brows and go to the window that looks over the parking spaces to find his car is indeed sat out there. I let out a sigh, followed up by a light chuckle.

"You should come up, then. Justin will be happy to see you. So will I," I add the last sentence softly, after a moment of silence.

Everything concerning him and our relationship is still so uncertain, but one thing has remained completely clear — I truly want to be around him as much as possible. That's one of the reasons that the past three days have been so hard. I've been expecting him to make the first move like he always did, but I'm starting to think that I should probably get over the way things with us used to be in high school, what with the stupid 'never text first' rule.

"Are you sure?" He questions.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I reply with another question.

"I don't know," he pauses, "I thought maybe you needed some space to think about everything. That's why I haven't called since Thursday."

I nod to myself, finally sitting with the reason behind his silence. He's still unsure of where I stand. When I think back to the conversation we had that morning in his apartment in Seattle, I'm not even surprised. He so resolutely told me exactly what he wanted, and I replied with a weak, 'we should give it a shot and see.' The more I think about it, the more I see how he came to the conclusion that maybe I wasn't all too eager to see him.

I'm hit with a visceral stab of memories of everything that's happened, reminding me just why I had acted that way and why I'll very likely _continue_ acting that way unless I choose to give him my full trust again — which I don't know if I ever will, for anyone. It's one of the reasons, amongst others, why I was so reluctant to even let myself be close to him again at all; I can't see myself putting that much faith into anyone ever again. It's something I've made tremendous efforts to not think about, because the force pulling me towards him is so strong it overshadows even the most prominent of my worries.

"I'm sure, Taylor," I say, making an effort to sound as convincing as possible.

"Okay, give me a minute," with that he quits the call. I fight the urge to watch him from my window and instead go to tell Justin that Taylor's about to get here. It's almost eight in the evening, so his bedtime is approaching, but staying up every once in a while won't kill him.

"Hey, Justin, Taylor's about to come over," I call out, and his head immediately turns to me, looking up from the drawing he was working on with a smile growing on his lips. "Do you want to watch a movie with us?"

He nods feverishly. "Awesome," he exclaims. I grin, amused at the sheer excitement that seems to overtake him every time I even mention his father. Seeing his happiness will probably never get old.

I'm considering texting Taylor after five minutes go by and he apparently still hasn't found my apartment. I'm in the kitchen preparing some food for the evening and Justin's in his room when a gentle knock on the door announces he's finally arrived.

I left it unlocked, so by the time I make it there, Taylor's already inside, taking off his shoes. He's wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black jeans. I examine the unusually nice shoes and frown. He never wears anything but sneakers, even when it's freezing outside, always defending that choice with a reminder that he's an ice skater — which has never made any sense to me, of course.

"Hey," he says, looking up and noticing me examining his attire.

"Were you wearing a suit?" I question, now almost completely convinced he was, because he wouldn't voluntarily choose to wear a shirt if he could swap it out for a tee.

"Uh," he scratches the back of his head, "like I said, I was kind of expecting you to say yes to the dinner."

I fail to suppress a smile. That's why it took so long for him to get here from his car — he was changing.

I stare into his eyes, for some reason feeling like it's been an eternity since I'd had the chance to look into them, despite it only being three days. His gaze glides over my body before making its way back to my face. There's something in his expression that I can't quite decipher. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and there's an unreadable glint in his irises, as if he's amazed at something.

I'm not sure what to do now. Do we hug? I'm pretty sure that we confirmed a relationship status last time we spoke — at least, that's what I took from that conversation. Should we kiss, then? That's what normal couples do. But then again, I don't think we're in a place where calling us a 'normal couple' would be appropriate.

He seems to be having the same internal battle when we're interrupted by Justin greeting his father. Taylor crouches down and they perform some kind of secret handshake, something that throws me off probably more than it should. Since when do they have a secret handshake?

I chuckle under my breath and walk over to the kitchen with the intention of carrying the unnecessarily large bowl of popcorn to the TV area.

"What are we watching?" Taylor asks.

"Cars," Justin replies without even asking anyone else what they want to watch, as I place the bowl on the coffee table.

I sigh while running a hand through my hair. "Again? Can't you pick something else?"

"That movie is great and you know it," Taylor defends the dreaded animated motion picture I've watched way too many times to find any joy in seeing again whatsoever.

I frown while looking for something to drink in the fridge. "What are you talking about? You're too old to have seen it when you were a kid," my last word is cut short with a gasp when I feel Taylor's hands settle on my hips, quickly followed by his body pressing into my back.

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate art," he lowers the volume of his voice as he speaks, his breath tickling my skin. I shoot a panicked look in Justin's direction, only to relax when I find him way too busy with looking for the DVD of his favorite movie.

"I'd hardly call that art," I speak quietly while closing the fridge, now having completely forgotten about why I was even there to begin with, all of my thoughts occupied by the solid warmth behind me.

"That's because you celebrate the boring definition of art," he says, pressing kisses behind my ear. "You know; Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, and so on. You were never one to have fun."

I quickly glance to the side to make sure Justin's not watching us, and when I find him to still have his back to us, busy with looking through about thirty different DVDs on the floor, I turn around in Taylor's embrace so that I'm facing him. "Excuse me for being cultured and _actually_ having good taste," I reply, while he takes several steps forward until my back's against the kitchen counter, his hands supporting himself against it on either side of me.

I get lost in the way he's looking at me, and before I have the time to realize what's happening, his lips are on mine. I allow myself to get lost in the kiss for a moment before leaning away. "We can't do this right now," I whisper, my eyes darting to Justin.

I watch him ponder what I'm saying while his gaze is glued to my lips, until he finally takes a step back. "I know," he says, shooting me a look that's more like a promise of there being more to come.

Once I'm able to gather myself, I head over to the couch. Taylor's setting the movie up while Justin goes to sit next to me. Once the familiar opening scene starts playing, the older York turns around and finds what was probably his preferred seat — judging by what happened literally two minutes ago — to already be taken. The corners of his mouth twitch up just a little bit as he takes a long look at the two of us before sitting down and propping his arm across the back of the couch. His hand finds it way to rest on my shoulder, sending chills through me at the simple touch.

Taylor messes with Justin throughout the entirety of the movie, mostly by throwing popcorn at him or making snide remarks about how unrealistic the concept is, at which point the kid starts arguing that he can't possibly know that.

When the movie ends, I can tell that Justin is beyond annoyed with his father, and yet would still spend another evening with him like this again in a heartbeat. Taylor seems to have that effect on people, like the moments where I could be so incredibly mad and frustrated with him and still want to kiss him at the same time. Something like this kept happening throughout the film, too, when he kept tracing his fingertips along where the sleeve of my t-shirt ends, and I was grateful for the boy being a barrier between us.

I close the door to Justin's room, having just put him to bed. Taylor watched us with his body leaned into the door frame as we said goodnight. I look over his features and his face is a display of pure content, the happiness radiating off of him. It's a look I recognize from when we were together, and it sends a strange current through me when I see it again.

"Do you want to stay for a little while, or do you have to go?" I ask in a whisper, in an effort to not disturb Justin. I gesture for Taylor to move to the living room so that we don't wake him.

"What time is it?"

"A little over ten," I reply as we make our way to the bigger room, the TV still on some kids channel.

"What do _you_ want me to do?" He asks, cocking his head to the side, the happy grin slowly changing into an amused smile as he places his hands on my shoulders, slowly but surely closing the distance between us.

"You can't just answer a question with another question. I asked first," it's all I can do not to whine or pout, knowing that'll just widen his smirk and further annoy me.

"Well, then I'd like to stay," my breath hitches in my throat at the simple sentence. I wasn't expecting him to be so blunt, though he's really never been one to hold back. The prospect of him staying makes me more nervous than it should. "Okay, maybe not. You look mortified."

"No, that's not..." I trail off, not quite knowing how to put into words that the nervousness I feel at his presence is somehow a good thing. I shouldn't have expected anything else, but it still took me aback. "I just didn't think you'd say that."

"You literally asked me. What did you think I was gonna say?"

"I just didn't think you'd be so direct," I reply.

He stops himself before facing me again. "I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time recalling a time when I wasn't direct about how I feel toward you, except for when I thought I couldn't be."

"You're right, I know," I reply quickly, very aware of the fact that he's almost never held back in this aspect. "I guess I'm just trying to figure out if I still know you."

Taylor frowns, and his hands go from my shoulders to my waist, though judging by his face I don't think he noticed the change. I, however, very much notice, and try to calm my breathing in response. "If there's anyone in this world who knows me, it's you."

Without really giving it any thought, I lean onto my toes to reach his lips and press a kiss onto them. As my eyes flutter open again after getting down, I can see him grinning in that cocky but at the same time loving way only Taylor does, and I let out a laugh.

"I'm glad to know I still have game," he says. I slap his shoulder lightly and busy myself with cleaning up dirty dishes. "What?" He chuckles as he speaks.

"You've always had game and you know it. I had to fight girls in high school," I reply, having realized he's going to make me say it.

"No, you didn't," he argues, starting to load the plates into the dishwasher. "You didn't talk to anyone besides me and your piano when we were in high school."

"How would you know? You were gone every other week because of some match," I retort.

"Look," he starts, "I know I'm irresistible, but-"

"Oh my god, I'm suffocating under the size of your giant ego," I walk back to the living room after getting all the dishes into the dishwasher.

"I was _going_ to say that you never had any competition as far as I was concerned," he continues in spite of my interruption.

"Oh," I let out, my stomach twisting at Taylor's sudden change from arrogant to sweet.

"But, yes, I still meant that part about me being irresistible," he says, though this time I was more than expecting it.

"I wasn't expecting anything less," I comment, looking around the room for the remote and turning the TV off once I find it.

When I turn my gaze back to Taylor, I find him examining the couple of picture frames placed on some of the shelves in the room. He's currently looking at the one of me and Justin my mother took before going into rehab right after the kid was born, making him a couple of months old.

Taylor notices me standing behind him and a distant, sad smile graces his features, posing clear contrast to how he was just seconds ago. "These are nice pictures."

"Yeah," I nod. I can see him biting the inside of his mouth in deep thought, his mood having completely shifted from playful to serious.

His jaw clenches just before he speaks, following a long silence. "I think about it every day. About what my life would've been like had I not done what I did," his eyes narrow at the picture frame, heavy sorrow lacing his voice. "The amount of time I've missed with him is something I'm not ever going to be able to get back, and that just—" he cuts himself off, and I hear him losing control over his voice.

I bite the inside of my mouth, not knowing what to say to that. Of course I want to make him feel better, but I can't find it in me to justify the choice he made.

"And how I hurt you, Hayley," he turns around and holds both my hands in his, "I'll never find the right words to express just how sorry I am."

"I know," I say.

"I don't think you do," he replies with a slight shake of his head. "You and Justin are the two most important people in my life, and the fact that I hurt you will forever be with me. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat. It kills me that I can't."

I hug him around his torso to offer him some comfort. Seeing how much this hurts him is somehow almost equal to the pain I felt then, and — to and extent — still feel now.

"Are you tired?" I ask after what felt like forever just standing there with him. "You can stay the night here if you don't feel like driving back to your place," I finish, grateful for the comfortable resting place his body provides for my head so that I don't have to look up at his face.

I feel his chest expand as he breathes in deeply, probably as surprised as I was to hear me say that. A part of me regrets the offer immediately after I put it out there, having felt much more comfortable in the non-awkward silence we were both enjoying just before. But the other part of me doesn't care, knowing full well that's what he wants, too. Arguing that we're moving too fast feels a little redundant given our past and what we did literally three days ago. And it's not even like I was suggesting anything; I was just offering him a place to stay.

"Sure," he says, and leans away, his eyes searching mine for something, for the first time tonight looking unsure of himself. If I didn't know any better, I'd even say he was nervous. "I guess I'll take the couch?"

I laugh, enjoying the fact that I succeeded in making him lose the cockiness. "I mean, if that's where you _want_ to sleep, then I can't stop you."

"Okay, you're just messing with me," he argues, quite clearly unhappy with the position I put him in.

"How's it feel?" I raise my eyebrows as I speak, letting my hands rest on my hips.

There's a pause. "The bedroom it is, then," he announces when he seems to have picked himself up, and I follow him into the room.

"Would you happen to have any clothes that'd fit me?" Taylor asks after I come out of the bathroom, having changed into my sleeping shorts and t-shirt. He unrolls the sleeves of his shirt as he looks around the room, as if searching for something he could wear.

"I doubt it," I reply, attempting to think of something I could give him but coming up empty-handed.

"I mean, I don't mind sleeping shirtless. I was more thinking of how distracted you'd be, and I'd feel guilty if you didn't get any sleep because of that."

"Jesus," I don't even have to look around to know what his expression looks like right now. "Seriously, what is it with you today?" I lie down on the bed and turn to see him unbuttoning his shirt.

"It's called confidence, Hayles," he places his shirt on the bedside table, and the mattress sinks under his weight when lies next to me.

"I think it's pronounced ' _narcissism,_ ' but go ahead," I reply. I know he's only partially serious when he says things like that, but he's usually a little more subtle about it.

Taylor laughs, and I feel his hands come around my middle just as I'm lying back down from turning the lights off. I half expect him to do something as he pulls me towards him, but he just gets comfortable, and it takes everything in me not to feel at least a little nervous from how close he is. I don't, though. I just close my eyes and enjoy the heat radiating off of his body.

"Goodnight," he says into my hair.

"'Night," I reply.

It doesn't take long for sleep to overtake me. The warmth and safety Taylor's arms provide make it easy for me to give in to the heavy pull on my eyelids.

I unwillingly open my eyes when someone shakes me awake. I'm about to curse at Taylor for waking me when I hear the high-pitched voice.

"Mom?" Justin says, and my head shoots up as I push away from Taylor and prop myself up on my elbows. Justin's face is beyond confused as he looks over Taylor and I. Only then do I realize that it's morning already, judging by the daylight coming into the bedroom from the hallway where Justin stands in his pajamas.

_Shit._

"What's going on?" He speaks slowly, sounding beyond confused.

"Uh," I look at Taylor, who looks as startled as I feel, "Taylor needed a place to stay, so I let him stay here," I answer, praying that he won't ask about the lack of clothing his father's wearing.

"Isn't it time for school?" Taylor asks, and I glance at the clock to find that it's eight already.

"Pre-school," I correct him. "Yeah, Justin, come on, I'll go make you some breakfast," I take hold of the opportunity, beyond grateful to Taylor for coming up with an excuse to get out of the horrible situation. I gently push Justin out of the door when I get up off the bed, shooting one look at T before leaving. As expected, he's having a hard time holding in his laughter.

"Why was Taylor not wearing a shirt?" Justin questions as I sit him in front of the TV, hoping he'll just direct his attention to whatever's on it.

I stop myself for a second and pretend to be busy with searching the cabinets for some cereal, even though I know exactly where it is. "He was hot, so he had to take it off," I reply with what I think would make the most sense to a four-year-old.

"Oh," Justin says, seemingly convinced, and I have to hold in a heavy breath of relief. "Why didn't he just sleep on the couch, then? It's colder out here."

I freeze as I try to come up with another excuse that would sound reasonable to him.

"The bed is more comfortable," Taylor enters the space just in time to save me. He's fully clothed now, and, except for the wrinkles in his shirt, looks completely put together, something I doubt could be said for me.

"Yeah, you're right," Justin replies just as I place a bowl of cereal in front of him, and I've never been more grateful for the cluelessness of kids. "You can sleep in my bed, too. It's not as big as mom's, but mom's kinda boring, so you'd probably like it better."

I turn sharply to glare at him and hear Taylor snicker as he goes into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water.

" _I am fun_ ," I proclaim, not understanding what it is with Taylor, and apparently Justin, too, calling me boring.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Taylor says with a chuckle.

When Justin's ready to leave, Taylor offers to drive him — an offer I happily take, since I need a little time to deal with everything. If I'm going to have Taylor stay over more often — which I'm sure will happen, if not soon then eventually — I need to come up with an excuse that won't make Justin question it. What that could possibly be, though, I have no idea.

There's also the resolution that I wouldn't have Taylor stay over, but somehow, in comparison to being away from him, the awkwardness of him being here seems irrelevant. In the back of my mind, I know the easiest solution is just to tell Justin of the relation between him and Taylor. The twist in my stomach at the thought, though, is a clear indication that it's still way too soon for that.

I don't even know what we really are. Saying we're dating just seems a little too surreal. We hadn't really had enough time just being friends this time around, because of the years we were together before.

"Well, that was certainly something," Taylor says when he gets back about twenty minutes later. Something about his demeanor changed in the time he was away, seeming a lot more hesitant now than he did before.

"Yeah," I sighed.

"Listen," he begins after a pause, "I'm sorry for what happened this morning. I'll just drive to my place next time."

I frown. "It's not your fault, T," I turn to see his apologetic face. "Don't worry about it. He likes you. He's too happy you're here to question why. And he's way too young to realize what's going on," I do my best to convince him, though I myself need some convincing of what I'm saying.

"I don't want to overwhelm you, to move too fast. It's hard to hold back sometimes, given how long we were together for before," Taylor replies.

"I just-" I cut myself off, "I don't know. I guess I'm trying to figure out which parts of you changed and which are the same."

He looks away thoughtfully. "We have all the time in the world."

"Yeah," I smile. "There's just a lot going on right now. And the fact that I can't get a damn job is driving me crazy, too."

"Actually, I was thinking about that," Taylor says, heading over to the couch to get something from his jacket where it's slung over the back of the furniture. "I know it's a long shot and you'll probably get mad at me for suggesting it, but... I genuinely think you should think about it."

He hands me a few leaflets and I take a look at them, my eyebrows drawing closer together the more I run my gaze over them. "College flyers?"

"To finish your degree," I open my mouth to cut him off and tell him that he's being ridiculous, but he doesn't let me, "and before you say that I'm out of my mind and that you wouldn't have the time: you can split the years so that you don't have as many classes. And you can transfer your credits from Julliard, I checked it all out. You'd be home more than if you did have a job."

My frown deepens as I think about this almost otherworldly proposition. "I—" I stop myself, not having the words to describe my feelings. Conflicted, confused, surprised, and maybe even happy.

"And if you're about to say that it'd be too expensive, I'd kindly ask you to shut up and let me take care of it," I shake my head. That hadn't even crossed my mind, though now it definitely has.

"You're crazy, Taylor. I can't finish college, not after it being over five years since I dropped out," I dismiss him.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because," I stutter, "I have a four-year-old who requires constant attention, and I'm completely out of practice. Do you know how much I'd have to prepare to even get accepted? That's impossible. And even if I did get accepted, I wouldn't pass my classes. I don't even remember how to read sheets anymore," I speak fast, probably bordering on rambling.

"That's not true and you know it," Taylor replies. "Your ability to read tiny black dots and somehow make them into notes has always scared me. And you love music more than anything. You'd get back into it in no time. If I can continue getting contracts from the NHL after nearly dying on the ice, you can do this, Hayles."

"But-" I protest, but he cuts me off again.

"No buts. Just think about it. Like, _actually_ think about it. Don't convince yourself that it's impossible right away, give it a genuine chance. It doesn't have to be this year or even the next year if you want to wait until Justin is older. Just don't write it off immediately," Taylor says.

I sigh. "Okay."  
  


_5 years ago_

_Taylor enters the room with a huge grin, phone in hand_ _,_ _looking like he'd just won the lottery._

_"Guess what?"_ _He_ _asks_ _,_ _nudging_ _me forward on the couch so that he can sit behind me. It's the middle of August_ _,_ _so the extra heat off of him isn't exactly something I welcome_ _,_ _but his proximity has never been anything but a feeling I crave._

_"What?" I turn my attention away from the movie we're watching._

_"I just got off the phone with Kevin_ _,"_ _I feel my face turn sour at the_ _mere mention_ _of his name. I've never even met the guy_ _,_ _but I already_ _feel like_ _he's the bad influence Taylor_ doesn't _need. "He said some NHL team might be interested in signing me for the next season."_

_I turn sharply in his embrace and study his face for a sign that he's just running another one of his pranks. He doesn't waver, though, as his smile stays honest rather than mocking, my own_ _expression soon_ _mirroring his._

_"What?" I ask in disbelief._

_"Yeah. It's not like I_ _'ll_ _have a contract immediately or_ _anything,_ _but it means the scouts are looking, so it's just a matter of time," he replies_ _,_ _and presses a kiss to my lips when I'm at a loss for words._

_"That's incredible. I'm so proud of you, T_ _,"_ _I turn around in his embrace and hug him._ _This has been his dream for as long as I've known him_ _,_ _and seeing him getting so close to achieving it feels as good as getting my own dreams to come true._

_I wasn't even sure we'd both be here like this_ _,_ _given how bad things got between us towards the end of our last semester this year. With him skipping out on weekends_ _where_ _we were supposed to see each other_ _and spending_ _extra time on the ice_ _instead_ _, he seemed to care about only one thing_ _,_ _and it wasn't me. Our schedules almost perfectly crossed the other out_ _,_ _with me being available at the exact time he wasn't and the other way around._

_In the_ _times that we did talk_ _,_ _Taylor seemed distant and distracted_ _,_ _as if he was thinking about a million other things at the same time, having a hard time just focusing on talking to me._

_This summer, though, I decided to spend my break at the York's house_ _,_ _knowing the two of us had a lot of things to talk through._ _And we owed it to ourselves to give that a proper shot. It only took us a couple of days, though_ _—_ _most of which I spent sulking and being mad at Taylor for basically ignoring me for months on end_ _—_ _to_ _get_ _back on track._

_I was well aware of how much pressure he_ _'s_ _under all the time, so forgiving him wasn't that hard in the end. It also lead to what has probably_ _been_ _the best summer of my life,_ _between_ _the time spent with Taylor and not having to worry about my screwed up family situation._

_"Thanks," he says, the grin still very present on his face._

_"So what happens now?" I ask._

_"Nothing. We just finish this movie_ _,_ _I guess."_

_"I meant with hockey_ _,_ _you dork_ _,"_ _I playfully hit his arm._

_"Same answer_ _," he_ _laughs and pulls me closer to his chest. "I'm already really good_ _,_ _so I just have to keep it up." I shake my head_ _,_ _but_ _feel_ _too happy to be annoyed at the cockiness._

_Before either of us have the chance to say anything else_ _,_ _his phone rings. "See? What did I say?" Taylor holds the device up in his hand. "I'm on high demand already."_

_"It's your mom," I point out with a snort when I see the screen._

_"You're just jealous of my fame_ _,"_ _Taylor shrugs_ _,_ _but doesn't give me the time to reply as he accepts the call. "Hey_ _,_ _mom."_

_The second I hear the voice on the other line Taylor's face falls, a deep crease forming itself in between his eyebrows. I can't make out any words_ _,_ _but the frantic way his mother talks sends a cold chill down my spine._

_I inspect Taylor's face_ _,_ _but it's_ _gone_ _stone-hard, not giving away any emotion_ _,_ _which is just another indication that whatever the subject of the call is_ _, it's_ _not good._

_Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong._

_"Mom_ _,_ _slow down," Taylor speaks_ _,_ _his voice betray_ _ing_ _the cool appearance he's so good at keeping with the way it breaks just a little bit at the last word. His body has gone completely rigid behind me, the arm that was resting on my waist now_ _nearly_ _gripping it._

_I'm holding my breath as I wait for the call to finish so that he can tell me what's going on. Each second feels like a minute_ _,_ _and each minute feels like an hour, the fear within me growing with e_ _ach_ _that passes. I don't even bother trying to get T to at least hint at what's going on_ _,_ _since I know very well he won't tell me._

_"Okay," he says finally_ _,_ _though he sounds distant, "I'll be right there."_

_I wait as he ends the call and hurriedly gets up from the couch_ _, nearly_ _knocking me over_ _in the procees_ _._

_"What's going on, T?" The fear of what's happened overpowers my fear of him snapping at me for asking._

_He's running around the house but stops himself, his car keys already in hand. "Justin. He's in the hospital."_

_"Is he okay?" I question immediately, though the intense gaze piercing me is enough of an answer._

_The world seems_ _to_ _slow down for some reason as I wait for him to answer. "I don't know," Taylor replies. "Mom wouldn't say anything. She just told me to get there," he speaks uncharacteristically slowly given the situation, sounding almost controlled, which is somehow more unnerving than if he was shouting._

_He looks at me for another beat before heading for the door. I have to jog to follow him towards the car. We don't exchange any words as we get into it or_ _on the way_ _to the hospital. All I can think about is this ugly fear gripping my heart, making every breath I take a shaky one. This feeling that whatever happened was not going to have a happy ending._

_I want to ask what he knows_ _,_ _because he must know more than just the little information he gave me, but the deep frown on his face_ _and_ _the way his knuckles are completely white from holding the steering wheel so_ _tightly_ _make me change my mind_ _, opting to_ _stay silent. I know him well enough to know that he won't talk to me now._

_"Taylor_ _,_ _slow down. It doesn't matter how fast we get there, anyway," I_ _say,_ _after_ _we've been running_ _through the long halls of the big, busy building that is the hospital._

_He doesn't answer_ _,_ _but his pace noticeably relaxes. My eyes dart around the place, looking for any sign of Taylor's mom_ _—_ _or anyone, really, who would be able to tell me what's going on. I don't even know if Taylor has any clue where we're going._

_My heart's in my throat as all the possible scenarios rush through my head_ _,_ _and I accidentally bump into more people than I can count, the inexplicably dark feeling forcing everything out of focus._

_We round another corner and I finally spot the familiar figure that's Mr. York._

_"Dad," Taylor speaks_ _, getting_ _his father's attention. He turns around_ _,_ _and the way his usually calm and collected exterior is now visibly distraught almost makes me shudder. His usually tidy hair is disheveled_ _,_ _and he looks like he hasn't slept in days, even though he seemed completely normal when I last saw him this morning. "What's going on? What happened? Where's mom?"_

_"She wanted to be there during the surgery," he answers with an almost guilty expression._

_"What surgery? What happened?" Taylor's relentless voice gains volume the longer he goes on._

_"Your brother was in an accident. He's in surgery right now."_

_"What accident?" Taylor cuts off the last word of his father's sentence._

_"Uh, I don't really know. They said his car broke down_ _,_ _and-"_

_"Is he gonna be okay?" Taylor's impatience gets the better of him._

_"I don't know_ _." They_ _exchange a look_ _,_ _and I feel like an intruder_ _then_ _, watching something I have no business witnessing. Mr. York looks like he's on the verge of tears when his younger son hugs him and the sight is enough to instill this feeling in me that_ _whatever happened_ _today_ _would irreversibly change everything._


End file.
